All Things Bright and Beautiful by dlynn
by Fux Muldar
Summary: "Scully, have you ever asked yourself what kind of man would quit his job, leave his family, follow you across the country, and never contact you the entire time he was here. Never once, in ten years, did he call you, or write you, or contact you in any way. What kind of man is that, Scully?"
1. Chapter 1

I am not the original author of this story! I am archiving this to share it with readers here, but I would like to point out up front that this is not my original work. I have attempted to contact the author for permission to post this here using the email provided along with the original text at keyofx_dot_org, but the account seems to be inactive. So, dlynn, if you're out there and you happen to see this, no infringement is intended.

* * *

All Things Bright and Beautiful

CHAPTER ONE:

"Dad?"

His office was quiet, serene. It was such a peaceful place. It had large bookcases full of textbooks, literature classics, and the stray paperback, pop culture fiction. The wooden bookshelves were made of dark, sleek, and richly textured mahogany just like his desk.

It was its enormous bulk that he sat behind, pecking at the computer keyboard. You'd think after all these years he'd be a better typist, but, frankly, he so very rarely had to do it. That's what dictation and secretaries were for in his busy world.

But, this was personal - so very personal, and something he could not entrust with a subordinate or even his daughter. As he thumbed through the reference book, looking once more for text that said what he wanted, he smiled. Today was a good day. A great day as he'd finally decided to move forward, to quit living in the past, to seek out all that he wanted - all the good things life had to offer.

"Daaad?" The voice came nearer, finally permeating his thoughts and making him realize he'd have to respond or she'd be up the stairs in a heartbeat, worried that he'd relapsed. It didn't matter that he was healthier than he'd been in months. His body was stronger, and his mind sharper as he had exercised and trained in these few months with a fervor that surprised his colleagues. He, after all, wasn't noted for fanaticism when it came to his health. Obsessive behavior with other things, perhaps, but to be all consumed with rehabilitation was uncharacteristic for him. His peers and friends were thrilled.

Perhaps, finally, he was moving forward in his life.

Running his grammar check through the document he'd typed, he smiled. It wanted to correct an historical literary icon, to tell him this poetry didn't fit the standards of proper, refined English. What did it know? It was just a machine, a machine without soul or heart, without the capability to understand the significance of these words, and their place in his life.

Pushing the save button, he printed out his poem. As he heard the soft swoosh of the paper sliding through the printer, he slid a pink envelope out from under his desk blotter, and removed the pretty floral card from its sheath.

It really was a lovely card.

"Daaad, are you up there?" came his daughter's concerned voice, floating up the stairs to his sanctuary.

"Sweetheart, I'll be down in a minute. Just checking on one of the medical sites. I need to review something for one of my patients," he answered, hoping that would be sufficient to keep her downstairs.

As he pulled the paper from his printer, and began cutting around the edges of the words, he heard her voice come closer. He could hear her footsteps as they sounded on the stairs. "We're gonna be late, dad. I told Mark we'd meet him for brunch at 11:00a.m. It's almost 10:30a.m. And you know what traffic is like in that part of town."

"Look...uh...I need my day planner, sweetheart. I think I left it downstairs by the telephone. Would you mind looking for it for me? I really need to take it with me, and I'm almost done here. Go take a look, dear. We'll get out the door more quickly, I promise."

His daughter paused on the staircase landing. "Fine, but you've got five minutes up there, or I'm going without you. And you're the one who wanted this meeting in the first place."

"No problem, I'll be down in three," he said as he glued the poetry quotation inside the card. Sitting back, he admired his handiwork. Not too bad for someone creatively inept, he thought. He debated for a moment if he should sign it, but no...there wasn't any need. Of course, she'd realize who sent it. They'd always been so alike in thinking. So perfect together in every way.

It really was a lovely card - and the sentiments, so heartfelt.

Sealing the previously addressed envelope, he grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair, stuck the pink paper in his inner pocket, and headed out his door. As he flicked the light switch, he paused. A smile crossed his face, and he headed back inside the room to the front of his desk. Opening the top drawer, he slid his fingers along the interior until he felt the special, hidden latch. Pushing it aside, he pulled the drawer farther out than it first appeared it would go.

Inside was a secret compartment where several glossy pictures were scattered throughout. Rifling through them, he grabbed one of the photos. Turning it over, he chuckled, reveling once more in its exquisite familiarity. The photo had been taken almost 11 years ago. It was him, and a beautiful, vivacious woman. They were smiling at each other as he pushed wayward strands of auburn hair away from her face. He remembered it had been such a windy day, and her long hair would just not stay in place.

But, it had been a day worth commemorating, so he'd had a waiter at the outdoor cafe snap this picture, immortalizing the moment in brilliant Technicolor. Yet, even as glorious as the captured moment, it truly couldn't do justice to his memory. That was etched permanently on his heart. After all, this had been the morning after they'd first made love.

Life had been perfect - perfectly exquisite.

"Daaad! I'm leaving without you. This is ridiculous; I'm not going to keep Mark waiting."

Sighing, he pushed the remaining pictures down inside the drawer, and began to close it. However, one of the photos got caught, and he had to pull it free. Bringing the snapshot up to his face, he puzzled at its composition.

When had this one been taken? He really couldn't place it.

Obviously, it wasn't as important a moment as the other picture. But then, not every second held the same sublime ecstasy as that one perfect day.

Puzzled he looked once more, trying to figure it out.

There was the same long, red hair, but this time it was matted with blood, and the eyes were lifeless, devoid of the sparkle and vigor so very visible in the other picture.

Ah...but then, this wasn't the same woman, was it? No...That's right. This was only a poor substitute, one who quickly failed in his estimations. That's right...he remembered, she was just one of several that had failed over the last ten years, never living up to his high standards.

She just wasn't the one.

He smiled once more as he slammed the drawer shut. Placing the picture inside his coat pocket with the envelope, he exited his office. Securely locking the door behind him, he shouted down the stairs, "Maggie, hold on...I'm right behind you, dear."

Maggie Waterston stood at the foot of the stairs, her toe tapping out an impatient beat. "I don't know why you feel the need to do this anyway, Dad. This is crazy, I feel like some 16-year-old and you want me to bring my boyfriend home for inspection."

Bending down to drop a gentle kiss against her cheek, Daniel skirted around his frustrated daughter and grabbed his car keys off the foyer table. "Just consider it a father's prerogative, Maggie. I only want to meet the man who's stolen my daughter's heart."

As she grabbed her own jacked off the banister where she'd thrown it, Maggie replied, "I don't understand the sudden interest in my life. You've never felt the urge before to keep tabs on me."

"Low blow, Maggie. You know I'm trying to change, to take more responsibility for my family, for my actions," Daniel muttered, opening the door to the garage.

"Fine, Dad, just understand I'm a grown woman, and I don't need your blessings."

"Message received, loud and clear, Maggie. We're just having a friendly bite to eat."

Placing his hand inside his jacket he felt the comforting feel of the glossy photo and the smooth envelope. It was time he took charge of a lot of things in his life. Things he'd let slide, that he'd ignored the last several years. He'd start with this letter.

There was a mailbox just outside the restaurant. It would be a perfect place from which to mail it.

It really was such a lovely card.

He was sure Dana would adore it. He really should have sent it ten years ago, instead of trying to always find solace with life's imperfect substitutes. But that was going to change. He was a new man. He'd been revitalized. In fact, he had Dana to thank for that.

It really was a beautiful day.

* * *

X-FILES BASEMENT OFFICE

LATER THAT WEEK

"Mulder, did you put this on my desk?" Scully asked, holding a gift card envelope up to the light and peering at it as though, if she stared hard enough, she could see through it. Turning over the pink envelope, she looked for a return address - nope, nada, zip. There was only the DC postmark, but no address.

"Another, secret admirer, Scully. I'm not sure my heart's up to that," Mulder panned, fainting back as he clutched at the center of his chest.

Scully looked up from the envelope, and quietly stared at her partner. Her features froze in place, the smile she'd worn as she picked up the card, gone. Mulder straightened up, and had the good grace to actually stammer as he said, "Ok...bad form. That was a totally insensitive, and uncalled for remark."

"Yes, it was," she mumbled as she slipped her fingernail under the envelope flap and gently peeled it back. Reaching inside, she pulled out a greeting card.

Mulder, incorrigible to the nth degree, slipped around the desk coming up beside her. As he tried to blatantly peer over her shoulder, he said, "At least we know the sender thinks you're special. It's a Hallmark, Scully."

"Hmm...You say something, Mulder?" Scully muttered as she glanced at the spring bouquet of flowers splayed out on the front of the card.

"The little crown, Scully, on the back. You know what they say, 'When you want to send the very best, send a Hallmark'. Personally, I've always felt the whole card thing overrated."

"That's why you forget all my birthdays? Hate to blow all your money on the very best?" Scully mused as she looked up from reading the lines within the card.

"Come on, Scully, you can't tell me you're not aware of the whole gift giving conspiracy. First we had Valentine's Day - that lovely holiday where anyone who's not involved is made to feel like a second class citizen. And of course, let's not forget honoring our mothers and fathers with their very own days. I could deal with that, Scully, but now we tack on Sweetest Day, Grandparents Day, Secretaries Day, Take Your Best Dog Groomer Out to Lunch Day. It's all a giant retail ploy to bring increased revenues into these greeting card consortiums."

"Consortiums? Interesting choice of words don't you think," she smiled as she concentrated on her partner's diatribe of the morning. "I was just talking about my birthday, Mulder - a birthday card, a simple acknowledgement that you are glad I exist in your life, not a pledge of undying love."

"Actually, Scull...eee, I always thought singing telegrams had the ability to add so much more of that personal touch," he said, reaching across the desk and flipping the switch on his portable CD player. As the music began, he wiggled his butt, arched his back and snagged Scully around the waist. Grabbing her hips, he pulled her closely into him. As their bodies made contact, the card fluttered to the floor, all but forgotten.

"Mulder, knock it off. What if someone walks in?"

"They'll have to find their own dirty dancing partner; you're taken," he said as he sensuously slid his pelvis against hers, undulating his hips with lazy, intimate intent. He gently swayed in perfect time with the music, drawing her with him in this seductive dance.

"Moby, again, Mulder. When did you become such a fan?"

Leaning down, he brought his lips tenderly up the nape of her neck to whisper at her ear. "Scully, I guess I'm just a romantic at heart. You make my heart sing, baybee." Tugging her earlobe into his mouth where he sucked gently, Mulder hummed along with the lyrics.

Laughing, Scully attempted to avoid his playful, tickling caresses. Finally, her eyes focused once more on the pretty card that had fallen beneath her desk chair. She pushed at her frisky partner, extricated herself from his embrace, and bent to collect her mail. Opening it, she read aloud,

" _Take, oh take those lips away._

 _That so sweetly were forsworn,_

 _And those eyes, the break of day._

 _Lights that do mislead the morn;_

 _But my kisses bring again, bring again,_

 _Seals of love, but sealed in vein, sealed in vein_."

"Mulder, are you sure this isn't a joke? Did you put Frohike up to this?" she asked, hopeful that this whole thing could still be easily explained away.

Reaching into his desk drawer, Mulder grabbed a latex glove, which he snapped onto his hand. He reached over and took the card from Scully's fingers. "Unless someone's given Shakespeare a triple XXX rating, I'd say this came from some other source. Frohike's never been one for the bard, Scully."

All playfulness gone as he examined the card for telltale signs, he asked, "Seriously, Scully, do you know who sent this to you?"

Raising her eyes to his concerned gaze, Scully sighed, "I wish I did, Mulder, but I have no idea. It was just here, lying with the regular mail delivery. It's probably nothing, like you said, a secret admirer."

Walking around the desk, she grabbed the coffeepot and began to pour herself a cup of hot coffee. She raised her eyebrow to him, a silent inquiry about whether he'd like her to pour him some as well. Shaking his head no, Mulder continued, "Scully, hold down the fort. I'm taking this up to the lab. I want to run it for fingerprints."

"Don't you think it's a tad premature to be expecting nefarious intent, Mulder," Scully said as she sipped her, suddenly, bland coffee.

"I think, Scully, with our track record. It's better safe than sorry. Frankly, I've got a nagging feeling that we are already steps behind where we should be with this," he said, throwing his jacket on and heading out the office door.

As she sipped her coffee, Scully murmured against the cup, "Me too, Mulder. Me too."

* * *

The Shakespeare quote is from Measure for Measure: Act 4, Scene 1


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO:

SEVERAL YEARS BEFORE

"Daniel, we're heading out for drinks about 9:00 p.m. Are you coming?" asked Dr. Neal Samuels, M.D., a colleague and a pest. He was a hacker, a toiler that managed to only exist in the circles he did because of his family's long history and connections in the medical field. He was truly someone who was tolerated with blatant disdain and ridicule. Yet, he seemed oblivious to the jokes of his peers. Some days, Daniel thought, he really was as dumb as a box of rocks.

They were standing at the elevator with other apathetic attendees to this most recent Thoracic Medical Convention. Neal had been trying to get him to participate in the crude and lewd hi-jinx that he and his boorish comrades were known to regale themselves of during past conventions. However, he had no intention in picking up call girls, or carousing like Neal and his buddies whose social development had arrested somewhere around the 8th grade.

They were an embarrassment to the medical profession - dinosaurs, and relics from a less enlightened age when male doctors went to conferences as an excuse to step out on "the little woman." Now, with a great percentage of those attending being "the little woman", you'd think these men would have learned to walk the straight and narrow. But no - political correctness was not a part of their vocabulary, or their modus operandi.

Watching the oily smirk that crossed Neal's face as he winked at a woman physician, Daniel wondered once again, how any one in his or her right mind could think this man was a healer, a physician. His hands were instruments of death, not tools of life. But his father's name, and the reputation of the institution, had been abused on more than one occasion as money exchanged hands in order to cover up Neal's ineptitude.

"Thanks, Neal, I already have plans," Daniel intoned, praying the elevator door would just open, allowing him final escape.

"Right, old man, you've got a hot number waiting for you upstairs? I know you, Waterston. The way you have of disappearing every night during these conventions, I'm sure you're getting a nice piece of ass on the side. So, do tell, is she good? She keeping you sa-tis-fied, up to your usual high Waterston standards-" Neal laughed, poking Daniel in the ribs to punctuate his comments.

While waiting for Daniel's response, Neal lewdly appraised the same woman physician he'd winked at earlier. His eyes roved up and down her form, enjoying the very pleasant view. He made no attempt to disguise his lecherous intent.

Clenching his fists that were buried deeply inside his trouser pockets, Daniel modulated his voice, keeping everything on an even keel. "Neal, behave; you are embarrassing yourself, and me."

"Ah, the little lady's not offended are you, sweetheart? I'm sure you know how to have a good time. In fact," he continued, placing his finger at the open edges at the top of her blouse where he played with a tiny ivory button, "I'm sure you do."

Suddenly, Neal grabbed her around her waist and brought her up close to his side, "So, what do you say, sweet cheeks, want to hit the town with us this evening?"

"Get your damn hands off of me," she hissed, squirming within his grasp.

"Neal, let her go. You're behaving like a drunken ass," Daniel admonished, moving his body into Neal's space where he could smell the alcohol on his breath.

Realizing Daniel was serious, Neal removed his hands from the woman, placing them in the air in a minor concession of mea culpa. However, she was not impressed with his lazy, insincere apologetic gestures.

"You, bastard!" she screamed as she drew back her arm, giving him a hard, right jab to the nose. His eyeglasses split in two, and were knocked from his face. Blood trickled from his nose where her fist had impacted, his bravado having been replaced with blubbering gulps.

"I'll have your ass, lady," he whined, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand. "Daniel, you saw that. I'll have her arrested; I'll sue her for assault."

"Neal, I don't think you want to pursue this; in fact, if the lady chooses I will support her claims that you assaulted her first. I suggest you leave it alone."

The crowd gathering at the elevator swelled as the commotion increased. Several who had been standing nearby, agreed they, too, would confirm the woman's story. Neal found himself without the proverbial leg to stand on.

"Neal, I'm going upstairs to take a shower, throw some sweats on, order in room service, and watch the NCAA playoffs where I plan to lose a couple of hundred bucks on Georgetown. I'm tired, and I just want to enjoy the basketball game. But if you choose to pursue this, I'm more than happy to take a trip to the police station."

The ping, signifying the arrival of the elevator car, sounded, and the doors swooshed open with quiet aplomb. Motioning the defiant woman through the doors, Daniel laughed at the disgusted look she threw at Neal.

"You prick. I suggest you get out of my sight before I press charges. Apparently, I have no shortage of witnesses," she spat at the bloodied Dr. Samuels. Disheveled and distressed, they watched him lumber away from the elevator just as the doors closed.

She chuckled as she smoothed her hands through her shoulder length red hair, straightening the tousled strands. Reaching her hand out in greeting, she grasped Daniel's waiting hand. "Hello, Dr. Waterston, I'm Dr. Janice Leonard. I don't believe we've officially met."

"No, we haven't had the pleasure, but I've heard such wonderful reports on your innovative techniques in the reduction of post-operative infections. If you have the time, I'd love to discuss them with you," he replied, releasing her well-manicured hands.

"I'd love to discuss my research, Dr. Waterston, especially since you are so highly regarded in the field. I'd value any input you might have. But as I heard, aren't you planning on settling down for some serious basketball?" she inquired, her face plainly revealing her disappointment in his plans for the evening.

"Dr. Leonard, I was trying to subtly, and graciously, remove a nuisance. Unfortunately, only a fly swatter of gargantuan proportion would work on a pest such as him. Or," he said, gently raising her bruised knuckles to his lips, "a brilliant right jab. I'd be delighted if you would accompany me to dinner - say, 7:30 p.m."

As the elevator stopped at her floor, Dr. Leonard replied, "I'll meet you in the lobby at 7:30, and I'm looking forward to the evening."

"As am I, lovely lady, as am I," he whispered, watching her retreat down the corridor to her room. He saw Dr. Leonard glance over her shoulder as the elevator doors slid shut. He hesitantly smiled in her direction. She couldn't know it was an affectation that came easily to one so skilled as he was.

She probably thought he was just a nice man. And he really was - he'd be especially nice to her.

She surely was the one.

* * *

PRESENT DAY

The wind whispered gently at his office window, stirring branches against the windowpane. It was a soft breeze, nothing extreme, but it swished the leaves, and serenely rocked the wind chimes on the porch below. The melodious tones hinted of the simple, lazy day he'd spent with Dana, when the wind had blown so much more fiercely. The day immortalized in his photo.

Pulling out the print, which he always kept nearby, Daniel traced his fingers over Dana's smiling face. She was watching him, gazing at him with such adoration in her eyes.

She was perfect.

They were perfect, the mentor and his student, his protégé. He'd had such amazing plans for them, not only in their personal life, but also in their professional careers. She was a testament to his prowess as a teacher. She dazzled them all with her mind. And the fact that she pleasured him with her body was no small matter either.

Hearing an acorn strike at the window, Daniel's thoughts were pulled back into the present. Too bad she hadn't known what he had always known - that they were meant to be together. They complemented each other; their minds were so alike.

No, she had decided she needed more than he could offer. She needed a life outside his sphere of influence, someplace she could distinguish herself on her own merits, apart from his greatness. She said she was restless, that something was missing from her life. That as much as she adhered to the rubrics of science, she felt there was something unfilled within her. Leaving medicine for the FBI might allow her the chance to discover herself.

Perhaps, he might have convinced her to stay, but she discovered his deceptions. She hadn't realized he was not separated from his wife. The divorce, he had said was only a formality that both parties were anxious to render. But she discovered he had a child, a daughter, and a wife who still felt herself very much married. This was the thing that finally pushed her away - her strict moral code, her damn honor that would not allow her to break up a family.

Pulling open his secret desk drawer, he removed another picture, placing it side by side on the desk with him and Dana's perfect picture, and the other photo he'd found in the drawer - the one of the woman with matted, bloody hair. All three were laid out, edges touching. When you first glanced, they all appeared to be of the same woman, but how could he have thought that. They really were so different, the similarities so insignificant as to be laughable.

This third photo was of a lovely woman with shoulder length red hair. Her name had been Janice, that's right...Dr. Janice something or other. And she, too, had fallen short of his standards. Although she was a brilliant doctor in her own right, poised at the brink of greatness, she just couldn't see his place in her life. She didn't acknowledge the degree to which he could help her, to shape and to mold her.

As he traced his fingers over her hollow, lifeless eyes, he tried to remember the way she'd been their last night of that weeklong convention - the animated way in which she spoke about her work, about her dreams; until she'd practically sneered in his face when he described all that he could teach her, all that he could provide for her.

She'd said, "Daniel, it's been fun. But I have no intention of uprooting my life for a pleasant diversion. And I really don't need your help." It was so painfully clear, as he'd used his necktie to wring the life out of her, how naive and immature she was to not accept his help. As she'd fought and gasped her last breaths, it had been such a shame to see that light leave her eyes. The world had truly lost a shining beacon in the medical field.

But as he had told Janice, while he snapped Polaroid images of her cold, lifeless body, commemorating another promising candidate lost to her own misguided notions,

"You're not the one."

It had not been difficult to circumvent the curiosity of the police. All he'd had to do was drop one of Dr. Neal Samuels' cards next to the body. Neal had done the rest with his brilliant performance by the elevator, the drunken threats he'd made against Janice at a bar that night, and the fact he couldn't provide an alibi for the time, in all probability, he'd been passed out on his hotel floor. Daniel couldn't have planned it better.

Removing Dr. Neal Samuels from the medical profession had just been icing on the cake he chuckled, placing the photo of Dr. Leonard's final repose back inside his drawer with the others. As he heard the living room clock chime the hour, Dr. Waterston remembered his appointment with his daughter and her fiancé. He really shouldn't be late. Mark was such a fine young man, just what Maggie needed.

Locking the door to his study, he wondered if Dana had appreciated the flowers that he had sent her.

They really were beautiful daisies. She had thought daisies were such happy, spontaneous flowers. He knew she'd like them.

* * *

DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT

PRESENT DAY

"Look, Muldeth, I don she ow you con shay thit," Scully mumbled as she vigorously brushed her teeth. "I me...itch nod like heesh don someshin to hurd me."

"Scully, would you please rinse and spit. I can't understand a word you're saying," Mulder groused while he sprayed shaving cream into the palm of his hand. Spreading the thick, white cream onto his cheeks, he rinsed his hands in the sink, trying his best to avoid the toothpaste Scully was enthusiastically spitting out all over the porcelain interior.

She reached across him, grabbed a Dixie cup, and began swishing water around in her mouth. Mulder made the mistake of thinking she was done, and dipped his razor under the running tap just as she spit out the water.

"Gross, Scully," he said, shaking his razor out before he placed it back on his chin.

Punctuating each syllable, Scully shook her toothbrush at him as she continued. "Mulder, all I'm saying is I don't think there's reason to be this concerned, yet. He hasn't done anything overtly threatening. For all we know, it's just a clerk down in the mailroom that has a slight crush," she said, grabbing the hand towel off the hook and wiping her mouth.

"Crush, huh? Not getting a big head are we Scully? Have you been playing Mrs. Robinson for all the mailroom clerks?"

"Watch it, Mulder, I'm not the one knocking at forty."

Pushing herself up with her arms, Scully turned until she was perched upon the vanity next to the sink. She watched the methodical moves he made with his razor, sliding the blade back and forth over his damp skin before dunking it back into the basin's water. She wasn't sure she'd ever get used to this - Mulder, his hair spiky and wet, and quite naked except for one of her bath towels wrapped low on his hips, shaving at her bathroom sink.

It really was quite delicious she thought, reaching forward to steal a kiss. "Mmmm...menthol, Mulder," she sighed, lapping at his lower lip until he granted entrance to her questing tongue.

"It's not going to work, Scully," he sighed, stepping between her legs, and rubbing his face against hers, transferring the remaining shaving cream onto her chin. "You're trying to distract me, but I'm quite good at multi-tasking."

Nibbling his way from her neck, up her cheeks across to the tip of her nose, he echoed her previous words. "Mmmm...menthol." Sliding into one more passionate kiss, he allowed this distraction, but only for a minute as he pulled back. "Now about that protection, Scully-"

"Damn it, Mulder," she said, jumping down from the sink, and grabbing her blouse off the hanger hooked on the back of the door. "I'm not going to be treated like some green rookie, I -"

"-can handle myself," he finished for her, snapping her bra strap as he walked out of the bathroom door.

Dropping his towel from around his waist onto her bedroom floor, he reached for his gray boxers. He pulled them on, and grabbed his trousers and dress shirt off the hangers that were draped over a soft cushioned chair.

"Scully, look, there's been no signature; we've pulled no fingerprints from either card. We haven't been able to trace the first Hallmark greeting, other than to find out it was mailed from someplace in Georgetown. And the florist couldn't tell us anything about your floral delivery 'cause the guy paid with cash, and looked like every other 50-somethingish, distinguished, charming man in DC."

"Fifty somethingish, I guess that blows the mail clerk theory," Scully said, snagging one of Mulder's ties from the top of her bureau. Tossing it to him, she continued, "It's not that I'm trying to minimize your concern, Mulder. I agree; it's weird, especially when you think this guy knew my penchant for daisies. But I'm not going to walk around with a bodyguard, or go hide in some safe house somewhere - and... throw me my other shoe, will ya?"

"Which one?" he asked, holding up two identical pumps.

"The navy blue one, Mulder," she laughed, pointing to the mate already on her left foot. "I usually try and wear matching shoes to work."

"I don't know, Scully. I personally feel it's possible to establish a fashion statement, while still maintaining that professional air," he said, throwing the tie she'd chosen for him back at her, while he finished tying one of his own choosing.

"I'm making a bagel, Mulder, you want one?" Scully changed the subject, heading out the doorway towards the kitchen.

"Shit," he seethed, disgustedly looking down his shirt at the piss-poor job he'd done tying his tie. Flipping at the uneven ends, he yanked the knot apart and held the tie in his hands.

"Did you say something, Mulder?" Scully asked, poking her head into the doorway. Seeing him struggle with his neckwear, she walked over and gently laid her hands atop his. Forcing his gaze, she gently took the tie from his grasp, and looped it over his head and around his neck. As she began re-tying it for him, he whispered, "I'm not finished with this, Scully. I won't let anything happen to you-"

Wrapping her arms around his waist as he encircled her in his embrace, Scully murmured into his chest, "I know, Mulder, I know."

* * *

Down the street from Scully's apartment building was a blue BMW parked up close to the curb. A very distinguished fifty-somethingish man was seated in the driver's seat. His eyes were trained at her window, a puzzled, pained expression crossing over his features.

Lifting a high powered camera, he focused it on her bedroom window. Her curtains fluttered in the breeze, revealing Scully and another, wrapped tightly in a passionate embrace. As he changed the setting on the camera, bringing greater clarity to the tableau, the man's face became more focused.

It was her partner, Mulder. He recognized him from his previous visits over the last several years-visits that had increased with frequency, although Daniel really hadn't known they were intimately involved.

Daniel recognized the look on his face; it was the same one that the camera had captured on his own features he mused, looking down at the photo lying on the seat beside him. It was the look of a man, desperately in love.

This changed everything.

Reaching into the cup holder, he brought a small Styrofoam cup to his lips, and took a last, tepid sip. As his face contorted in pain, he crushed the Styrofoam in his hands, and threw it out his window. He glanced down at the passenger seat at a hardcover book that Maggie had given him. She had said he should read it, since the ideas within may have helped save his life. Lifting the book, he flipped it open to the author's picture and biography.

Murmuring under his breath he read, "Dr. Colleen Azar's book, 'Everything Happens for a Reason', is a monumental step forward in the research of holistic medicine. Dr. Azar, a former physicist, thoroughly explores everything from heart chakras to eastern religious medical practices..."

Drawing his finger gently over her picture, Daniel whispered, "What lovely red hair, and a physicist. Perhaps she's the one."

He pulled away from the curb, and melted into the morning's commuter traffic.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE:

A FEW DAYS LATER

He stood, shaking. His legs felt rubbery as though he'd just run a 15k and not the several blocks he'd actually jogged. His limbs were quivering and tingling with sharp, intense spasms. The adrenaline rush had long since dissipated and there was nothing left to hold him up. So he fell forward to his knees, barely catching himself against the sharp, angled corners of the building just before he hit the ground.

He leaned heavily against its stone wall as though he felt he could infuse himself with its granite strength when he had so little of his own. He tried to catch his breath, but found it difficult to succeed. Forcing himself to take slow, even breaths, he gently exhaled in and out. All these great gulps of air were pushing him closer to hyperventilation. He didn't need that; he needed to keep his wits about him. This had been too close.

Things had not gone as planned.

Daniel's heart still raced. No matter how hard he tried to slow the rhythm, to practice the biorhythm techniques he'd taught himself, it just pounded in his chest like a jackhammer - its staccato beat fast enough he feared his heart would surely burst forth. And there he'd be, Dr. Daniel Waterston, an expert in constrictive pericarditis, dead because he couldn't control the heart fever that boiled within his blood.

The fever named Dana.

* * *

HOME OF COLLEEN AZAR

LATER THAT SAME EVENING

Scully unfastened her seat belt, and pushed open the driver's side door. Stepping from the silver-gray vehicle, she strolled up the walkway to the home's front door. Only this time it was so very different.

Several months ago when she'd come this way, it had been because of Mulder, his request that she pick up crop circle papers from Dr. Azar, Ph.D. It had turned into repeated visits as she'd gotten a chance to know Colleen, discover how very much they had in common - two scientists finding their ways in worlds that were, on the surface, foreign to their analytical, scientific minds.

Yet, these were worlds that fascinated them, intrigued them, drew them in with a passion unparalleled in their previous career choices. Each had found the very things about science that she loved, the mystery, the allure of the unknown, but in disciplines that seemed on the outside, mismatched, but, in reality, were actually the dreams curiosity designed.

Today was different.

Scully flashed her badge at the poor cop stuck with guard detail, the thankless job of keeping gawkers and the press back behind the police barricades. She lifted the yellow police tape plastered across the front threshold and ducked beneath it. Stunned, she looked around the room.

The peace and serenity, that had dazzled her the last time she'd been here, were gone. In their place were chaos and disorder. No longer did the living room speak of harmony and simplicity, but of dissonance that struck her like a fist to her gut. She felt physically ill.

Squashing down the uncharacteristic squeamishness, Scully strode further into the room. Her investigator's eye noted the overturned furniture, the broken glass, and the candles strewn on the floor. Her eyes were drawn to the hard wood floor, where she bent down to examine one of the sculpted pieces that had been carelessly tossed. She fought the urge to stroke its smooth, oval outer design or the screw shape interior. Its warm, wooden beauty was incongruous within the rubble where it lay, but it was a possible clue to what had happened here.

A hand touched her shoulder. Scully jumped.

"Mulder..." she nervously laughed.

"Guilty," he whispered as though he was standing in a funeral parlor, afraid of disturbing either the dead who couldn't hear or the mourners who couldn't understand. Standing, she straightened and looked to the edge of the coffee table. There she saw the splay of red hair fanned out on the large throw rug.

It really was a mortuary, at least as far as this house was concerned.

Stealing herself to go and view the body, to conduct the examination she knew she'd have to, Scully asked, "Who found her, Mulder. Was it Carol?"

"Yes, she came home to this -" he said, pointing to the rubble that lay before them. "Colleen was already dead. Carol called 911, and then fell apart. They've sedated her, and taken her to the hospital for observation. She was, obviously, quite distraught."

"Did she see anyone, anything?" Scully asked, stepping over the vibrant pieces of shattered glass from the large stain glass that had once hung in Colleen's window.

Watching Scully gingerly pick her way through the remains of Colleen Azar's living room, Mulder replied, "No, she thought she might have heard something, but frankly she was too traumatized to really compute anything. All she managed to do was call 911."

As Scully stopped at the edge of the throw rug, right at the outline of the body, Mulder walked up to her. Glancing to see who might be paying attention, he bent in closely, his voice low, for her ears alone.

"Scully...Dana...are you alright? I know the two of you were becoming friends. Maybe it would be better if we leave, this really is local police jurisdiction anyway."

Placing her hand into her pocket, Scully pulled out a latex glove, and snapped it on.

"We stay, Mulder, we stay."

* * *

DANIEL WATERSTON'S HOME

SAME EVENING

Daniel slammed the side door, instantly regretting that action as he heard a voice from the living room.

"Daniel, that you?"

Hoping to waylay curiosity, Daniel responded as he climbed the stairs to the second floor, "Mark, I just got back from a run. I'm going up to take a shower. Is Maggie here yet?"

"Uh...no, Daniel. We had a little argument this afternoon...she, well she hung up on me," Mark said, coming towards the stair landing. Looking up the long staircase, he could barely make Daniel out at the top. "I'm sure she'll be here; you know how it is. She's just a little steamed with me, but she'll get over it."

"Sure, she will, Mark. You two were meant to be together. You're good for her, son. Don't you worry; all couples have 'lover's spats' right before the wedding. It's all pre-marriage jitters. You'll see," Daniel said as he moved down the hall to the study off of his bedroom. Keying open the lock on his door, he walked into his haven. He pulled the Polaroid from his pocket and glanced at Colleen's pale image as he gently closed the door behind him.

He had a package to assemble. It really was a lovely gift, one befitting his Dana.

* * *

X-FILES BASEMENT OFFICE

A FEW DAYS LATER

"When did it arrive?" Mulder asked as he stomped into the office like a petulant child. Noting his partner's distracted gaze as she sat and stared at the bulletin board behind his desk, he asked again, "Scully, when did the package arrive?"

Ignoring the escalating tone in his voice, Scully placidly sat there, absorbed with the oddities of the wall. "Mulder, where was this picture taken?" she asked, pointing to a blurry blob.

"I mean, was there any way you could substantiate this person's claims...that this was an actual UFO? It looks like someone put his finger over the camera lens as he shot the photo. If you look closely, you can see the whorls of the fingerprint. That's no UFO, Mulder," Scully said, turning 180 degrees in her chair to look up at her partner's worried expression.

"What's in the box, Scully? What did he send you now?" Mulder whispered, noting the carefully unwrapped package that sat on his desk.

"Well, apparently, my secret admirer thinks I look good in white," Scully said, reaching her gloved fingers into the box where she snagged a spaghetti strap, drawing a classical, white negligee from the tissue paper.

"Hmmm...he sees you as pure," Mulder muttered, taking the silk from her and running it through his hands. "You are perfect in his eyes, he holds you in high esteem-virginal."

"Virginal? In his dreams, Mulder-"

"Exactly, Scully, in his dreams. That's what worries me," Mulder mumbled as he placed the negligee carefully back into the box. Picking up the brown paper wrapping, he noted the lack of return address, the typed SPECIAL AGENT DANA SCULLY, HOOVER BUILDING, the Georgetown postal stamp. Well at least he was consistent.

"Scully, was there a card with this lovely Victoria's Secret moment?"

"No, just the gift. I guess he's getting shy, tongue-tied."

Walking around the desk to where she stared at the screen saver on her computer, Mulder placed his hands upon her shoulders. "No, I think he figures the gift says it all, Scully. He looks at you as his bride."

"Mulder, I...I need to go for a walk. With this, and Colleen's murder...and...I just...Mulder, the walls are closing in on me," she stuttered, pushing against his hands as she stood. "I won't go far; I promise, but I've got to get out of this building. I can't breathe."

"Scully, you are not leaving this room without me. In fact, after we drop this at the lab, I want to go to Skinner, and request protection. It's time, Scully. This guy's escalating. He's stalking you, and I'm afraid of what might come next."

"Mulder, you take the box to the lab. I'm going for a walk. Alone," she glared at her partner. "As far as Skinner is concerned, notify him. That's procedure. But I refuse to go into hiding like some scared rabbit. I won't. I can't."

"Scully-"

"Later, partner," she said, grabbing her jacket as she started to head out the door. "I'll be careful."

"Like hell you will, Scully. I repeat, you are NOT leaving this room without me, end of discussion," Mulder steamed, throwing his arm across the open threshold, effectively blocking her escape.

"Move the arm, Mulder."

"Gladly, are you going to be reasonable?"

"I said, move your damn arm, Mulder. Or, I'll move it for you," she hissed, her voice evenly paced but firm.

"Scully...you are not going out this door without me-"

"I said, move the fucking arm, Mulder. I don't care if we are sleeping together; you have no right to order me around."

"Well, technically, Scully-"

"If you try and pull that 'I'm the senior agent crap', don't even try. We both know that's bullshit. And you really don't want to tell Skinner that you are banging your subordinate do you, when he asks about this little problem we're having? I'll have to tell him that Agent Mulder's all bent out of shape because he's in love with me, and seems to have forgotten that I'm a trained agent, not just his lover," Scully spit out as she pushed under his arm, into the hallway.

Mulder removed his arm from across the threshold as he heard the quick, angry staccato of her heals clicking down the corridor. As the elevator swished open, then closed, he grabbed his own jacket. He'd be damned if he let her walk out on this.

* * *

A FEW BLOCKS FROM THE HOOVER BUILDING

Scully stormed down the sidewalk oblivious to the stares of pedestrians she passed, weaving in and out of the natural traffic of tourists and business people. Her countenance was fierce, determined. She had a 'stay the fuck away from me' look about her. She was not to be trifled with, and people gave her room, unconsciously moving away from her as she crossed the street and headed even farther away from Hoover.

'How dare he! How dare he presume that he could tell her what to do? She was not some rookie agent to be ordered around. She could take care of herself.' Scully thought, fuming even more as she considered the smug manner in which he'd thrown his arm against the door jam. His actions were unconscionable to the extreme.

Reaching the corner of another street, Scully momentarily paused, considering her options. Just as she chose to go left, she was pulled roughly into a shady courtyard, outside an office building. Struggling fiercely against her attacker, Scully kicked and tried to scream, but a hand snapped firmly across her mouth as she was drug farther into the shadows.

Suddenly, she was spun in her captor's arms, until she was forced, face forward against a stone wall, his body pressed firmly against hers. He smashed her into the rough stone edges, their harshness like sandpaper, abrasive against her skin.

"Is this what it's gonna take to get you to listen to me, Scully. I could be your 'friend'. I'd be all over you, in a heartbeat, and there's nothing you could do about it," Mulder hissed in her ear, just as he released her.

Whipping around, her adrenaline carrying her forward, Scully swung her clenched fist out, catching the corner of her partner's chin as she cold-cocked him, sending his head snapping back.

"You Son of a Bitch!" she screamed, gasping for breath. "How dare you!"

"How dare I, Scully?" Mulder asked, wiping the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. "I dare because I love you...I dare because the thought of losing you to some sociopath stalker scares me shitless. That's how I dare, Scully!" he shouted back at her as he moved forward into her space, defying her to lash out at him again.

"How dare you, Scully, be so cavalier with your life. You don't think I know you can take care of yourself. Hell, you've saved my ass so many times I've quit counting. But I refuse to allow your pig-headed-"

Scully's eyebrows arched in reproach at his choice of words.

"-Pig-headed, I mean what I say, Scully. You know procedure. You know Skinner should be notified, and you know that if he says you go to a safe house, you go to a safe house. What's gotten into you?"

Scully's gaze softened with his words. She knew he was right. Turning her head in the direction of a small trickling fountain, she murmured in answer to his question, "Pfaster...that's what's gotten into me, Mulder. Donnie Pfaster."

Straightening her shirt that had been pulled up in their tussle, Scully walked away from him towards the fountain. As she neared the water, she was reminded of the soothing sounds of the tiny water cascade sculpture that had rested on Colleen Azar's coffee table. She shivered with the memory.

As she trailed her fingers through the cool liquid, Scully watched the way her hand created tiny ripples in the water's surface. "Colleen said something to me, when we were discussing Daniel's illness. I'll never forget it. She said, 'When we hold onto shame, guilt and fear, it creates an imbalance...makes us forget who we are.'"

"Mulder...I...uh-"

"Pfaster, really did a number on you, didn't he?" Mulder asked, grasping Scully's wet hand, tenderly enclosing it within his own. "From the very first time he took you, to that last time, when you sh-"

"When I murdered him, Mulder, murdered," Scully murmured; tears pooled in her eyes, ready to spill down her cheeks the first time she blinked. "...Murdered."

Turning around, Mulder appeared to be looking for something in the courtyard. Finally, his eyes settled on a tiny alcove, snuggled between two of the buildings. It was out of the way, not so visible to prying eyes. Pulling Scully away from the fountain, he led them to the hiding place, still visible to the street, but nestled in shadows instead of harsh daylight.

"Scully, you will listen to me, and you will hear what I'm saying," Mulder began as he pulled a reluctant Scully into his embrace. "I can't begin to understand what you went through with Pfaster. I can't understand the terror you must have gone through knowing the horrific atrocities he had planned for you. I don't know your state of mind at the time; I can assume, I can postulate based on similar cases with similar victims-" Mulder tightened his hold on her as Scully cringed at the word 'victim'.

"Frankly, Scully, more than you shooting the bastard, whether we argue the semantics of it being justified or not, my fears for you are more for how that horrendous moment may color your future actions."

Placing his fingers under her chin, he tilted her face to his. "Scully, I worry that given the split second decision making process that occurs in a situation like that, where you might find yourself in the clutches of another madman, that you might 'blink'."

"Blink, Mulder?" she whispered as a single tear slid free, tracing her cheek.

"Yes, blink. Realizing you might question your actions, your resolve, your right to use deadly force to defend yourself, and therefore, in that 'blink' give the upper-hand to the perp, and consequently lose your life, scares the hell out of me, Scully."

"I won't blink, Mulder," she murmured under her breath.

"What, Scully, I didn't hear you," Mulder said, forcing her to speak more audibly.

Straightening her shoulders, pulling away from his embrace, Scully spoke with confidence.

"I will not blink, Mulder."

With measured steps he closed the distance between them, until she was within the confines of his arms. Only this time, tenderness was the farthest thing from his mind as he pinned her once more against the wall. Scully groaned as his mouth accosted hers, stealing her breath with the intensity of his kisses.

Sliding her hands through his hair, she met his ardor measure for measure with a fervency that scared her. Her mouth seared his skin as she twisted her head within his grasp, biting and nipping at his wandering lips, tasting the salty tang of his blood where she'd hit him. Branding the pulse point at his neck with sweet caress, she inhaled the scent of his morning's after shave.

Her hands burrowed beneath his jacket and grasped the smooth linen of his dress shirt. Pulling it from the waistband of his pants, she slipped her hands beneath the starched cotton to claw at his back. She needed to feel his skin against her.

"Mulder...we shouldn't, this is wro-"

Her words were eaten as his mouth once more claimed hers, his tongue frantically dueling with her tongue. Grasping her own shirt, he lifted it high to reveal the black lacy cups of her bra. His hands climbed her body, from where they'd held her hips pinned to the wall, until they firmly settled upon her breasts. Without hesitation, he yanked down the tiny, lacy scraps until he'd bared her chest.

Scully gasped as her exposed flesh experienced the cool air within their alcove, her nipples hardening not only from the outside temperature, but in sexual response to the thrill of being exposed in such an open location. However, before she could truly register the chilly breeze or her own carnal response, Mulder bent, his teeth latching on to her exposed flesh, pulling her nipple firmly into his mouth's warmth.

As he suckled at her breast, and molded the other one with hands rough with passion, she moaned her pleasure. Reaching between them, she placed her hands upon the bulge in the front of his pants, palming him as he ground his pelvis into her hand.

"Scully...now, here, now-"

"Mulder-" Scully paused, reality intruding as she noticed a car parked at the curb in front of them. She knew the driver probably couldn't see them, but nevertheless, realizing the possibility of it brought her to her senses.

"We're too visible, Mulder. There's someone out there-"

Mulder pulled his mouth from her breasts as he felt her body tense. Scully, pulled her shirt down, not even bothering to fix the bra her partner had so cavalierly pushed aside.

Turning, Mulder followed the line of her gaze, watching a BMW hurriedly pull from the curb into the stream of traffic. Scully walked farther into the light, until she stared at the empty parking space where the car had been.

"Scully, what is it? What did you see?" Mulder asked, concern evident in his voice.

"Daniel."


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR:

COURTYARD, JUST OUTSIDE HOOVER

"Daniel? As in Dr. Daniel Waterston, the man you once had a relationship with?" Mulder asked, haphazardly tucking his shirt back into his waistband as his eyes searched the street for the BMW.

"Yes...at least I thought it was," Scully murmured as she surreptitiously adjusted the bra beneath her shirt. "But Mulder, I could be wrong. My line of sight was impaired, as was my cognitive ability at that moment."

"Plainly speaking, you were pre-occupied with my obvious skills as a lover," Mulder quipped, sliding his hand gently against her cheek and shoving an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

"Plainly speaking, I was using very poor judgement," Scully answered, stepping away from his touch. "We know better than to allow something like that to occur. We're not a couple of teenagers, Mulder. We're-"

"-Super G-Man and Super G-Woman, defending the free world against aliens, conspirators, and liver bile. We may scale sewers, escape from alien ships, and defeat fluke men, but we're not allowed to be human."

Looking at her partner's incorrigible face, she smiled. "Ok... but just every once in a while. And Mulder?"

"Hmm..." he said, his mind, obviously, still puzzling over the empty parking space at the curb.

"I've always wondered what was under Superman's cape," she said, giving his butt a gentle squeeze as she walked out of the courtyard, back onto the sidewalk.

"Anything for you Super G-Woman, anything at all," he murmured, wondering what Daniel Waterston looked like, and if he happened to be distinguished, and fifty-something-ish.

* * *

THE OFFICE OF DR. DANIEL WATERSTON, M.D.

LATER THAT SAME DAY

Mulder stood beside the desk, tapping impatiently on the computer monitor as he waited for the secretary to look up from his keyboard. When the gentleman finally finished typing, and raised his head, he came face to face with the official FBI badge Mulder held open in his hand. Mulder was playing a hunch, a hunch that would either pay off, or put his ass in a frying pan so hot he'd have third degree 'Scully-burns' by the time she was done with him. But the jumpy feeling at the back of his neck just wouldn't go away.

"Yes, may I help you," the young man asked, his curiosity evident in his inflection.

"I'd like to see Dr. Waterston, please."

"Do you have an appointment? Dr. Waterston's schedule is quite full today. He got delayed earlier, and that pushed him back. He's just now beginning to catch up," the secretary said as he pulled the doctor's day planner into view.

"Excuse me, Brad, is it? This is my appointment," Mulder reiterated, holding his badge once more in front of the young man's face.

"Ah...gotcha. Why don't I call the doctor and let him know you are here...uh...Agent-?"

"Mulder... Special Agent Fox Mulder. Brad, I think we're finally doing business now."

* * *

"Agent Mulder, I believe my secretary said it was urgent. What can I help the FBI with this afternoon?" Dr. Waterston asked as he came out from behind his desk. He walked to where Mulder was entering the door, and extended his hand out in greeting.

Giving the doctor's hand the obligatory clasp, Mulder took in Daniel's appearance. He was a man in his mid-fifties, graying hair, a moustache, and distinguished looking in his charcoal gray suit. He fit the florist's description perfectly. There was no doubt in his mind, that the good doctor was Scully's 'secret admirer'.

The question was, why?

Dr. Waterston, returning to his seat, motioned Mulder to a chair in front of his desk. Mulder decided to accept. Nonchalantly dropping his body into the place proffered, he smiled across the desk.

"Dr. Waterston, I'll get right to the point. I'm Agent Dana Scully's partner."

"You're Dr. Scully's partner?" Waterston repeated, obvious in his intent at using her medical designation instead of her FBI title. "Is there something wrong with Dana?"

Looking across the desk at Waterston's expression of concern, Mulder had no doubt it was false. As he held the man's attention, he asked, "Why don't you tell me, Dr. Waterston. You seem to have become inordinately interested with her, lately."

"Agent Mulder, I'm not sure what you mean by 'inordinately'. We haven't spoken to each other in months. Although, I've always been interested in Dana; we're very close friends," Waterston replied, his gaze never wavering from Mulder's. "But I hardly see how our personal relationship has anything to do with you, as her professional partner, I mean."

Deciding to quit pussy footing around, Mulder pulled a pink envelope from his pocket, where he unsheathed the card, holding it up so Waterston could see it. He asked, "Dr. Waterston, did you send Agent Scully this card?"

"Yes, Agent Mulder I did."

"Unsigned?"

Taking the card held out before him, Waterston opened it to the verse inside. Smiling, he silently read the words.

"Again, I don't see how this is any business of yours. This is between Dana and me, but, yes, I did not sign the card."

"May I ask why not?" replied Mulder, his voice thick with controlled anger. "Was there some particular reason you felt the need to send Agent Scully this card, unsigned; flowers, unsigned; and intimate apparel, again, without any acknowledgement of who the sender might be."

"Before I answer that, Agent Mulder," Daniel smiled, leaning back in his chair, steepling his fingers across his chest, "I'd like to ask you a question. Does Dana know that you are here interrogating me?"

Wishing he could wipe the smug, arrogant smile from his lips, Mulder kept his cool. Forcing himself to relax, he smiled in turn. "No, Daniel, Dana does not know I am here."

Chuckling, Daniel sat forth in his chair. "You are either a very brave man, Special Agent Fox Mulder, or extremely fool hardy. Either way, I wouldn't want to be in your shoes when Dana finds out."

"And...in answer to your question," Waterston continued, just as Mulder was going to reiterate, "I didn't sign the card because I knew Dana would understand the significance of it. That particular play of Shakespeare's holds great meaning for us. But, perhaps, she'd rather tell you about that. I feel as though, at least _I_ should respect her privacy."

Ignoring the not so subtle jab, Mulder repeated, "And the flowers and the nightgown?"

"As far as the flowers are concerned, I did send a card. Perhaps something happened to it when it was delivered from the florist. As far as what it said, that was private. And the...nightgown, as you so eloquently put it...that didn't have a card, but it shouldn't have needed one, if she had received the one I put with the flowers. In light of that card, the negligee...uh...spoke for itself. I'm sorry to hear my message wasn't delivered. That explains why she hasn't gotten back to me."

Looking at his watch, Dr. Waterston stood. As he sauntered over to the door, he asked, "Tell me, Agent Mulder, do you normally get so intimately involved in your partner's personal affairs?"

Realizing the meeting had been deemed officially over, Mulder stood as well. Joining Waterston by the door, he replied, "Only in so far as her safety is at issue. And when 'Dana' receives personal gifts without the benefit of acknowledgement, or fingerprints for that matter...you did know Dr. Waterston, that there were no finger prints on any of her special gifts?"

"No, Agent Mulder, I did not. I have no idea how that could occur."

Glancing down at a hardback book thrown carelessly on the end table by the couch in Waterston's office, Mulder asked, "Dr. Waterston, you don't happen to drive a BMW do you?"

"Yes, I do."

"And did you happen to be in that car, parked near the FBI building this afternoon?" Mulder asked as he picked the book up, and turned it over in his hands. Dr. Colleen Azar's picture stared back at him from the dustjacket, her laughing face mocking him like a surreal ghost. It was as though she had just stepped across his grave, her footsteps silent testimony to the chills running down his spine.

Coughing slightly, Daniel replied, "No, Agent Mulder, I was at a meeting this afternoon. I was nowhere near your office. Why would I be?"

Handing the book to Dr. Waterston, Mulder slipped through the office door. "Why indeed, Dr. Waterston?"

* * *

LATER THAT NIGHT

He moaned. His body tensed. His legs twitched. His eyelids fluttered. His breathing became more labored with each flashing scene. Tossing his head from side to side, he tried to escape, but he couldn't.

Blood...bright red, flowing, vibrant-pulsing blood. It pooled on the floor beneath her head, intermingled with auburn strands of hair. It shouldn't have happened. She was the one. She had the credentials; she was a physicist, a woman of science. Surely she'd understand his point of view.

Screams...earsplitting screams of terror, outrage, cries of confusion-Which were hers? Which were his? Glass breaking, shattering into piercing shards just like his heart, breaking into pieces, again. She wouldn't understand; she couldn't understand.

Colleen thought he had come to her to discuss the miracle of his recovery, to investigate the imbalances in his life that might have added extra medical stress to his body. She thought she might be able to convert the great Dr. Daniel Waterston, M.D. to her misguided way of thinking about the world.

He was not the one who needed conversion, she was. And she couldn't see. When he suggested all her mumbo jumbo, voodoo, chakra, aura, energy field crap was nonsense, she dismissed him, actually had the audacity to request he leave her house.

She wouldn't listen. She was patient, but she was firm in the defense of her beliefs. The more it became clear that she would never understand how fallacious her ways of thinking were, the more his blood boiled within his soul. He no longer heard her words, her entreaties that he "just leave". All he could hear was Dana's sparkling laugh, the splash of the ocean spray against the rocks on their beautiful day, their magical weekend. It was so obvious now, how could he have ever felt Colleen Azar could measure up to his Dana.

As the pounding surf's roar filled his ears, he turned away from her, feigning interest in one of the sculptures. It was delicate, as though it was a dancer, arms splayed out, skirts twirling. He took the surgical gloves from his pocket, and slipped them, with practiced ease, upon his hands. He'd been careful to not touch anything in her home. He hadn't left his fingerprints anywhere.

Giving the dancing sculpture a gentle spin, he turned, and advanced on her.

The serenity, the peaceful expression she must surely have practiced, disappeared. The pupils in her eyes dilated as they beheld the latex upon his hands. Her nostrils flared, comprehension coming to her in panicked waves of dread. He could smell the pungent aroma of her fear; it was fierce.

She didn't beg like the others had. He could see her eyes wildly tracking the room, trying to establish a way out. She thought her intellect would save her. She was incorrect in that assumption. As he lunged for her, she fell back, her head crashing hard against the coffee table, sending a waterfall sculpture tumbling to the ground.

As he beheld her glazed expression, her momentary confusion, he seized his moment, picking up the fallen sculpture and smashing it against the side of her head. He lashed out at her, over and over, until he knew this doppelganger was no more. Then he looked at the simple beauty of her living room, its shrine to her bizarre beliefs,

and went berserk...

Dr. Daniel Waterston, M.D., the epitome of control, lost it. He smashed everything he could get his hands upon. He threw candles through the stain glass windows; he yanked silky sheers from their hooks, and tossed sculpture and Buddhist temple knick knacks around like he was Hurricane Daniel. Until, finally, spent, bent over double, he cried out in rage and impotence.

It was at this moment, that he saw car headlights flash through the front windows. No! He wasn't done. Frantically, he searched for his briefcase, tossing pillows and candles aside in his frenzy. Grabbing it from beneath one of the fallen sculptures, he fumbled at the clasps, jerking it open. He snatched the Polaroid camera from inside, and quickly snapped her picture. He needed to record this, to remind himself that there was no other for him, no one else that could replace his Dana. Never again would he stand for a poor substitution. Next time he would have the real thing.

Just as he heard the key in the front door lock, he exited out the back door, running like he had the hounds of hell at his heels. His breath burned in his lungs. His arms held his briefcase tightly to his chest as he made his way down the street as quickly as his legs would carry him. He was sure the sirens he heard were after him; they had to be. His eyes glazed over with fear, his lips were parched, his-

"Dad, wake up. Daaad."

Waterston's eyes flew open as his body jolted awake. He registered the hands shaking at his shoulders as the voice continued, "Dad, you're having a nightmare. Wake up, Dad."

Clarity came swiftly to him as he took in his surroundings. His body was drenched in sweat; his heart raced. But he was home, seated in a leather recliner, the seat tilted back so that his feet rested on the reclining stool. The television flickered light across the room, the sound droning in his ears. Maggie was bent over him; her cool hands stroked his brow as she tried to soothe the blood fever she knew nothing about.

He wasn't sure what the nightmare signified, other then being violent, and vivid, beyond anything he'd ever experienced before. Why he would be dreaming about that Azar woman was beyond him. It was probably a response to that book Maggie had given him, but the savagery of the night terror was so out of character.

Lately, however, it had become the norm. He was having more and more unexplained dreams like this, each more horrific than the last. Sometimes he felt as though he were split into two people, and it was getting harder to reconcile each with the other.

He shivered.

"Ma...aggie. What are you doing here? Why aren't you home with Mark? It's late; you shouldn't have come out."

"Uh...Dad, Mark and I-"

Daniel saw the floral suitcase and matching garment bag sitting on the floor at the entrance to the family room. Looking up he saw the tears welling in Maggie's eyes. She turned her back to him, and fussed with the newspapers that were scattered on the coffee table.

"Maggie?"

"I don't want to talk about it tonight, Dad. Please...I just need a place to say," she said, stacking the newspapers, then gathering them up in her arms as she headed for the recycle bin in the garage.

"I'm tired, I just want to go to bed. We'll talk in the morning, ok Dad?"

Daniel pulled the handle of the recliner, snapping the footrest back into position beneath the chair. He really didn't want to deal with this tonight. His brain was still trying to process the images of Dana and her partner engaged in lewd behavior out in the open like a couple of horny teenagers who didn't know better.

He hadn't been able to clearly see anything, but his imagination provided the details his eyes had missed. It was not a pretty picture, and one that would have to be dealt with, immediately, especially since Agent Mulder's visit to his office earlier that day.

Fox Mulder would not get in the way of his plans.

Rising, he walked to his daughter, laying his hand upon her shoulder, and stopping her departure.

"Maggie. I want to know, now," he said, his voice firm and resolute. "Why are you here, without Mark?"

Daniel felt the trembling of her shoulders as Maggie quietly cried. "It's off, Dad. I called the engagement off."

"Maggie, that's crazy. You're just having pre-wedding jitters. Sweetheart, that's all it is. Why don't you call Mark, and work it out? I know you want to," he said, picking up the portable phone and holding it out to her. "I'm sure he's beside himself worrying about this whole thing."

Maggie, ignoring the phone, wiped her eyes with the back of her hands, smearing her streaked make-up even more. "Dad, no...This was not a quick decision on my part. It's been building for several days. He's...he's just too controlling for me. I thought he'd change if we were able to talk things out. I thought once he understood where I was coming from, he'd listen," Maggie said, walking into the kitchen, laying the papers on the counter, and grabbing a glass from the cupboard.

As she filled the glass with cold water, she continued, "I've told you how I want to drop out of law school-"

"Maggie, and I've told you how big a mistake that is. You would make a wonderful attorney. You are doing so well; you are so gifted," Daniel snapped, grabbing his own tumbler from the cupboard. Only he filled his with a shot of Jack Daniels, throwing it back in one angry, swift gulp.

"This whole writing idea of yours is crazy, Maggie. If you want to write, fine...just get your law degree first, and write on the side. It's a great hobby, but not a career."

Taking a deep breath, and carefully placing her glass in the sink, Maggie turned to leave the room. "You sound like, Mark, Dad. Have you been coaching him? I heard those same words from his mouth. 'It's a hobby, Maggie. Play time, Maggie. You aren't serious, Maggie.' You two get along so well; you marry him," she hissed, attempting to step around her father.

Daniel reached out, grabbing her arm. He roughly turned her to face him. "You are crazy to think that this choice of yours will make you happy. You are turning down a promising career, a chance to make a name for yourself, the opportunity to excel under my tutelage. You have no idea what you are throwing away. What I can offer you, Dan...Maggie-", he screamed at her, his flushed face, contorted with frustration and rage, inches from hers.

"Dana?! Are you experiencing deja vu, Dad? Is this how it was between you? The great Dr. Daniel Waterston tried to control her life, too. No wonder she left you!"

"How dare you mention Dana. You have no idea what it was like, what we were like."

Jerking her arm free, Maggie hurried into the living room and grabbed her suitcases from the floor. She turned, yelling across the room at her father who stood in the kitchen, shaking. His eyes were stunned, glazed with rage; his body trembled with the vehemence of his outburst.

"I'm outta here. I don't need to listen to this twice in one night. If you can get yourself under control, and want to talk, I'll be at Sarah's. But whatever your decision, Father, know that I am doing what's best for me. I am taking care of myself. I learned from a very early age not to depend on you!" Maggie screamed as she slammed out the front door.

Throwing his empty glass into the sink where it broke into dozens of splintered pieces, Daniel hurried after her. He threw open the front door as her car sped from their driveway. "Dana, you'll be back! You know I'm right! Medicine's your passion; I'm your passion! Don't you run from me! I'll follow you."


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE:

THE FBI BUILDING

A FEW HOURS EARLIER

Mulder walked down the corridor as if on autopilot, his eyes unfocused. As the elevator doors swished open in front of him, he heard a shout. It was Larson from VICAP.

"Hey, Spooky, you look like a dead man walking. Did you do something beyond the usual to upset the 'little' woman?"

Looking up just as he entered the elevator, Mulder caught Larson's friendly smile and mumbled, "You don't know the half of it." Thrusting his hand out, he blocked the sliding door before it closed behind him.

"By any chance, you wouldn't be needing a new partner, would you, Larson? I think I might be available for the position in about...oh... say 10 minutes or so," Mulder said, glancing at his watch.

"That's ok, Mulder. I'm not sure anyone else but Dana could handle you. You'll talk yourself out of this one. You always do," he joked as the door began to close.

"I wouldn't bet the farm on it," Mulder murmured, sliding dejectedly against the back wall of the elevator. "My ass is soooo fried."

* * *

X-FILES OFFICE

Scully paced the office for what had to be the hundredth time. It wasn't that large of an area, but she felt as though she had surely walked a mile or two over the last half an hour. Checking her watch, she swore, "Damn him; where is he?"

First he gave her hell because she wouldn't take this 'stalker' thing seriously enough to get protection. Then he breezes by her in a whirlwind when they reach the office, saying he's heading to the lab to check on the results from their most recent gift acquisition.

That was two hours ago.

It was bad enough that he had turned his cell phone off so she couldn't reach him, but when she'd called the lab to check on him, she'd felt like his homeroom teacher asking 'has Agent Mulder returned his hall pass, yet?'

"Damn you," she snarled as he entered the office, his smile frozen in place as he caught a glimpse of her face. "Where the hell have you been for the last...two hours...Mulder? And don't even attempt to tell me that you were at the lab, or that you got waylaid into a consult with VICAP, or that the zipper in your fly got stuck and you've been struggling with it in the bathroom for the last hour and a half trying to get it unstuck. Whatever story you've concocted between here and wherever, you can just forget because I'm not buying it."

"Well, Scully, actually-"

Closing the door behind him, she turned, pointing her finger into his chest to punctuate her denunciation. "Forget it, Mulder. I'm not sure I even want to hear your excuse. You left me holding the bag. I had to talk to Skinner. I had to convince him that I did not need protection, which, by the way, was easier since you didn't even bother to make an appearance at the meeting you instigated.

"Scully-"

"I'm not finished, Mulder. Shut up! Then, to top it all off, I had to listen to the crude, asinine jokes from the lab boys when I called to ask if you'd made it up there for the results. Imagine my surprise when I heard not only had you been there, and left, but that you had found it necessary to inform them that this particular lingerie was mine. Thank you very much, Mulder, for the clarity with which you delivered that parcel."

"Scully, they're just getting your goat. I told them that package was from an unknown person, or persons, and it was part of an escalating pattern of gifts, a possible stalker. They know it was serious, and not some smarmy joke on my part," Mulder said, finally being allowed a word in edge wise.

"I know that, Mulder. I know the jokes were not because of you, but it still didn't make it any more pleasant to listen to, you know?" she huffed, her energy level running down as she collapsed into her chair.

"I hate this, Mulder. I hate to have to defend myself to everyone from you, to Skinner, to Mike in the lab. Who is sending these things to me?"

"Well, Scully, I can help with that." With his words Scully's eyes rose in expectation, until she saw the sad look upon his face.

"Dr. Daniel Waterston."

"What?" she asked, her eyes betraying confusion as if she hadn't heard him correctly. "Daniel?...no...he wouldn't do that. Why would he, and why wouldn't he tell me if he were?"

Crossing to his desk, Mulder perched his right hip against it as he bent forward, capturing one of her small hands within his own. "I assure you, I've checked this out thoroughly; the gifts are from him."

"You finally found fingerprints - on the lingerie box?" Scully asked, pulling her hand from his and standing up. Walking over to the large skylight, she looked up. Storm clouds filled her view as they heralded the beginning of the bad weather the weatherman had predicted that morning.

"No, actually, just like the others, nothing turned up on that box," Mulder explained, his voice way too thoughtful and kind as he stood, and walked over to join her.

"I figured it out from your comments this afternoon. From your belief that Dr. Waterston was watching us while we were in the courtyard, I had a 'hunch'."

"A hunch, Mulder. You are basing this wild assumption of yours, all...on a hunch," she said, turning until she met his eyes. His face was composed, his gaze steadily held hers until her breath hitched, and she gasped, "You went to see him. That's where you've been. You went to see Daniel."

"Yes, Scully, I did," Mulder replied, continuing to narrow the distance between them. Scully backed up with each step he took, until there was nowhere else for her to go.

"How could you, Mulder? How could you do this to me? Why didn't you tell me...of your 'hunch' before you went off all...all...macho?"

Mulder reached out, but his hands fell lamely to his side as Scully shook him off with just a look. "Scully, I had to-"

"You had to what?" she asked, pushing past him, and reaching for her jacket that was hanging from a hook near the door. Shrugging into it, she picked her brief case off the floor, and opened it. As she began shoving papers into it with little regard for what condition they'd finally end up, Scully caught her fingernail on the edge of the case, tearing it.

"Damn it!" she hissed, shoving her finger into her mouth and sucking on the injured digit. "Tell me something, Mulder. Was it good for you? Did you and Daniel enjoy talking about me behind my back? Did you compare notes?"

"Scully, no...I just had to know for sure. I had to know if this were the crazy bastard who was sending you these gifts. I couldn't drop the ball again. I had to act on this feeling. I just knew it was Waterston, and I couldn't fail you."

"Fail me? What the hell are you talking about, Mulder?" Scully asked, impatiently snapping the case closed. "How have you failed me?"

Grabbing a tissue off the desk, he handed it to her so that she could wrap it around her finger. Begrudgingly she accepted it, holding it there until she could get a Band-Aid from the drawer.

"Pfaster, Scully. I failed you with Pfaster."

"That's crazy. He came after me; there was no way that you could know he'd do that," she uttered as she placed the tiny bandage on her finger. Her voice betrayed her revulsion at having to think about him again, twice in one afternoon.

"Wasn't there? Scully, come on, I'm a profiler. I'd dealt with him before; I knew the fixation he had on you. After all, you were the one who got away; you were the one who was responsible for finally putting him behind bars. Why wouldn't he come after you? Intuitively, I knew this...I knew it. And...I did nothing."

"Oh...Mulder. You couldn't have known."

"Scully, I should have known. I shouldn't have ignored the nagging feeling that I had for as long as I did. I almost lost you, Scully, because I didn't follow through with my gut. And I'll be damned if I let that happen again."

Scully searched her partner's earnest face, saw the love that shown from his eyes, his concern for her, and she nearly relented.

Nearly...

"Mulder if you suspected Daniel, why didn't you tell me? Why go there alone?" she asked, her voice calm, but resolute. "This isn't all about Pfaster. You were curious, weren't you? Curious about Daniel and me, our relationship?"

"Yes...I was interested in the man you had told me about, the man you had nearly agreed to spend your life with," he admitted, his eyes, obviously, wary about revealing so much of his insecurities to her.

Fighting the urge to drag him through the coals once more, Scully asked, "He admitted to sending the gifts? He told you this, or are you working on a hunch again?"

"Scully, he looked me in the eye, without hesitation or concern of any kind, and admitted sending you all of the gifts. He didn't care that I knew. In fact, he seemed pleased."

Ignoring his evaluation of Daniel's behavior, Scully continued, "Why would he send those now? And why wouldn't he sign them, if he did? It doesn't make any sense, Mulder."

"Well in his mind, it made perfect sense. He felt that each gift was significant enough for you that you would be able to discern he was the giver. In fact, he was quite confident in that," Mulder said, handing Scully the original card she'd received.

As she took it from his hand, she ran her tongue over the bottom of her lip, wetting its dry exterior. "Shakespeare in the Park-" she uttered, her voice trailing off as she dropped the card onto the desk. "The quote, it's from Measure for Measure. Daniel and I...uh...saw it together."

"And the daisies?" urged Mulder, his voice soothing but firm.

"He bought them for me. There was a person in the park that was selling flowers. He wanted to get me roses, but I told him that I preferred the daisies. It fit my mood that day, more carefree, more spontaneous than I usually was."

Scully paused, contemplating the rest she was going to tell him. Mulder, for his part, remained silent as though allowing her the time to compose her words. He had to know this was difficult for her.

"The lingerie, the white nightgown, I had one like it. I wore it...that night-" whispered Scully, "-the night we first made love. But you knew that, didn't you?" she queried, seeing nothing but love in his hazel eyes.

"I figured it was something like that, but I wasn't sure of the particulars."

Scully fiddled with a pencil on her desk, one marked with Mulder's gnawing teeth marks. "Well, I guess that's the end of that. I'll tell Skinner the 'scare' is over, and then I'll call Daniel, or go and talk to him, and explain that I don't want-"

"No, Scully," Mulder said, his hand reaching across the desk to grab hers. "I don't want you to go anywhere near him, or have any contact with him what so ever."

"Excuse me, Mulder. You don't want me to do what? I don't think it's any of your business how I intend to handle this with Daniel. In fact, I think you've been involved quite enough," she said, drawing her hand back from his. "It's over, Mulder, I'm ready to move on. I will inform Daniel of that, and you and I can get back to 'real work'."

"I don't think it is over. I think there's more to this then just a jilted suitor making a last ditch effort at getting your attention. I think...Scully, I think Daniel was involved in Colleen Azar's murder."

"Now you've really lost it, Mulder. You've protected me from Daniel's unwanted advances; you've solved the mystery. But to think he's involved with Colleen's murder is ludicrous. It's beyond ludicrous, it's-"

"Is it, Scully? He knew her; he had her book in his office-"

"I have a book on JFK in my office, Mulder," Scully said, placing her arms together, hands out in front of her, "better snap the cuffs on. Obviously, I was part of the conspiracy involved in his assassination."

"Scully, have you ever asked yourself what kind of man would quit his job, leave his family, follow you across the country, and never contact you the entire time he was here. Never once, in ten years, did he call you, or write you, or contact you in any way. What kind of man is that, Scully?"

"A very confused and lonely man, Mulder. But that's not indicative of someone who's a killer. Daniel would have no reason to kill Colleen, no reason at all," she huffed, grabbing up her things and yanking open the office door.

"You are so far out in left field on this one, Profiler Mulder, that you aren't even in the ballpark," she said, stepping through the door. "And do me a favor. Sleep at your own place tonight; I need some time alone," Scully said, slamming the door behind her.

"I don't think so, Scully. Something's just not right with him. I feel it." Mulder lifted his cell phone out of his pocket, hitting speed dial. "Frohike, turn off the tape. I want you to do something for me."

* * *

LATER THAT EVENING

SCULLY'S APARTMENT

Scully stared at the ceiling. She resisted the urge to turn and look at the bedside clock. She knew it was late; she knew she missed Mulder. And she knew, without a doubt, his car was parked right outside her apartment building, and he had his binoculars trained on her windows. That is if he weren't already sitting in the corridor outside her apartment door.

This was crazy; she harrumphed, slapping her pillows into a little ball, and rolling over on to her side. How in the world could Mulder leap to the conclusion that Daniel was a murderer? Even for him, that was a monumental chasm to jump, intuition or not.

Daniel? A murderer?

Scully breathed deeply, practically smelling the salty tang of the ocean air where she and Daniel had stayed. It had been in La Jolla. They had taken a picnic down to the ocean, spread a blanket on the rocks, and watched a brilliant sunset.

Then afterwards they'd stumbled into the middle of a Shakespeare Festival, a totally amateurish rendition of Measure for Measure. If it weren't for the fact that they had lain on their blanket, and spent more time making out like a couple of teenagers than actually watching the production, she'd have been bored to tears with the community's lackluster effort.

He had bought her flowers, and stuck them behind her ears like some schoolboy who had just discovered girls. She, in turn, had made daisy chains, and acted 'totally' out of character.

The entire weekend had been unlike her, from the moment she had agreed to go with him, to that night when they'd made love. It wasn't too many days afterwards that she had realized her mistake, and-

{{Briiiiing, Briiiiiing.}}

"Yes, Mulder?" she asked, bringing the phone to her ear.

"Scully, what are you wearing?"

Sliding down into her bed, she pulled the comforter over her shoulders, and captured the phone between her pillow and her ear. "Your Knicks T-shirt."

"The gray one, with the tear in the sleeve?" he asked, sirens sounding in the background of their conversation. Yep, he was close by. She could hear the siren through the phone, as well as outside her window.

"Mulder, come on up to bed. I can't sleep; you aren't sleeping. This is silly."

"You sure, Scully?"

"I'm sure," she whispered, her limbs already relaxing as she realized he'd be up soon. "Just keep your cold feet to your side of the bed."

"Up in a sec, Scully. Don't start anything without me. On second thought, go right ahead. I can quickly catch up," he laughed, pushing the 'end' button on his phone. Grabbing his leather jacket off the seat, he hit speed dial.

"Ok...guys. I'm heading up; I'll want that information by tomorrow...Don't give me your shit, Frohike. You are always telling me your kung fu's the best. Well I expect you to make good on that boast. You three had better get those fingers walking...Dig into everything. Waterston makes my skin crawl...I have a very bad feeling about this dude, boys...very bad."


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX:

EARLY THE NEXT MORNING

Scully was curled up in the overstuffed chair next to the window, her legs tucked under her, and an afghan carelessly thrown over her shoulders. Diffuse morning light trickled into the room by way of the pale shears hanging at her window. The city was poised at the brink of another day.

Slowly her eyes traveled her bedroom, briefly settling on the various pieces of furniture, registering the similarities and differences that existed between her room's current state and its decor at the time Pfaster invaded her home. She smiled, in spite of those memories, as she realized the biggest difference, her pillow snatcher - Mulder, asleep in her bed, clutching her pillow to his chest.

But other things were altered as well. Gone was the metal étagère that she had pulled down upon Pfaster, sending knick-knacks crashing to the floor. The lamps she had used to defend herself had been replaced. She had not bought a new dresser mirror to replace the one he'd slammed her head against. Soon, but not quite yet, she'd be able to do that.

The bedroom's character had changed in subtle ways, too.

She still had her sleigh-style bed, even the same pale green duvet, but the prints that hung behind her headboard were now framed with green matting, instead of beige. Even the chair she was sitting in had been re-upholstered to bring out the green tones as she subtly changed the color scheme of her room. Too bad it had been out of necessity, instead of choice. The material, torn by glass shards that had pierced so many areas of her bedroom, had been beyond repair.

She hadn't wanted Pfaster to steal her security, to force her to change too much of herself. He'd taken enough already; she refused to allow him anymore access.

Mulder rolled over in bed, his hands restless against the sheets as he searched in his sleep for something...something...that he knew should be there but wasn't. He's reaching for me, she thought, warmth spreading through her as his eyes snapped open. She watched him listen for the sounds of her breathing, holding his breath to afford his ears the small nuances of sound in the dawn's stillness.

"I'm here, Mulder."

"Scully?"

"Mmmm...hmmm."

"Are you ok?" he asked, lifting his head from his pillow and looking across the room to where she sat, shadowed and hidden.

"I'm fine, Mulder. Just thinking...remembering."

"Reflection tinged with 20/20 hindsight is not always what it's cracked up to be. Rarely do we come out on the winning end, you know?"

Ruefully, Scully shook her head. "Don't I know it, Mulder." Pausing, she gathered her thoughts until, finally, she spoke. "Pfaster said something, when he first overpowered me, out there in...in the hallway-"

"Scully, stop-" Mulder murmured, pushing back the duvet, and throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. Wiggling his toes against the floor, he snagged his boxers, which he quickly pulled on.

Walking to her chair, he knelt on his knees beside her, his hands sliding up her lap to rest upon her own cold hands. Lacing her fingers through his, she continued, "Pfaster said, 'You are the one who got away; you are all...all I think about."

"Scully, don't," Mulder admonished. She ignored him, her eyes focused out the window to where the sun's light began to drench the street below with morning luster. "I told him, that the only reason he hadn't been executed, the reason he'd been given life, was that I had asked the judge for leniency. I had spoken on his behalf."

"I know, Scully," he soothed, his hands reaching up, gently stroking her hair.

Ignoring his tenderness, because she desperately wanted not to, Scully finished her thought. "When I was in the hospital...with Daniel, I told him that he needed to take accountability for his actions with Maggie. And that he needed to move forward, that we weren't the same people we once were. Mulder, he said, 'Dana, it was only to be with you. You are all I lived for'."

"Eerily similar..." Mulder confirmed, his fingers tenderly tracing her cheek as he encouraged her to look at him. Bringing her gaze from the window, and concentrating on his silhouetted face, she murmured, "He can't be like that, Mulder. Not the Daniel I knew...not the man whose passion for science, for medicine was so all consuming."

"Not all consuming, Scully. His passion, obviously, extends to you.

"You'll have to prove it to me, Mulder. I won't take your leap of faith; I won't blindly follow you. Not this time, not with this..."Scully whispered, shrugging the afghan from her shoulders as she brought her hands to Mulder, pulling his head onto her lap, running her fingers through his hair just like he'd done.

"I know, Scully," he softly sighed against the soft cotton of her T-shirt. "I know."

* * *

X-FILES OFFICE

LATER, SAME MORNING

"Scully? Where are you off to?" Mulder asked as he watched her gather notes, stuffing them into her briefcase. It was similar to the night before, but definitely in a much more organized, less painful, manner.

Scratching something out on one of her tablets, she stuck a pencil between her teeth. Muttering around it, she said, "I've got a consult with VICAP, Mulder. Skinner's requested I look at something for them. You knew that, remember I told you this morning...in the shower," she chuckled, watching the glazed expression come to his eyes.

"Well, as I remember, Scully, I was...uh...occupied at the time you mentioned these meetings and I probably wasn't concentrating."

"Occupied, that's an interesting word for it. I always thought it was called-"

{{Briiiing! Briiiiing!}}

"Hold that thought, Scully," Mulder said, snatching the phone from his coat pocket.

"That's ok...Mulder. You take your call; we can discuss semantics later."

"Hang on," Mulder said into his phone, placing his hand over the receiver in order to give them privacy.

"Uh...Scully, I'd rather not 'discuss' semantics. I'm a 'hands on' kind of guy. I'll compare definitions with you, but in a much more tactile manner. Sometimes words just aren't enough. Date?"

"Date, Mulder," she agreed, tossing her pencil in his direction. "I don't think it's sharp enough for you, but you might as well add it to your collection," she said, nodding her head at the few haphazard pencils that remained stuck in the ceiling above his desk.

Scully left the office, closing the door behind her.

As he heard her swift, sure footsteps, becoming less distinct the farther she got from his office, Mulder had a twinge of guilt for what he was about to do. But only the barest twinge.

Sticking her pencil behind his ear, he asked, "Frohike, what do you have?"

* * *

ACROSS TOWN

SAME TIME

"Mark, son, glad you could meet me for breakfast. Have a seat," said Daniel, standing as Mark reached his table. Mark, who was whip-wire thin with wavy red hair, pulled out his chair, seating himself.

As Daniel took his own seat, he reflected again that Mark was a nice looking, clean-cut young man, definite son-in-law material. What's more his ideas were so in line with his own. How could Maggie jeopardize her security, her future with all her nonsense?

Nodding affirmatively to the server who asked about champagne, Daniel continued, "I know it's a little out of the way here, Mark. But they have the best, I mean best, eggs benedict that I've ever tasted."

"Thank you, Sir, for the invitation, but I really don't see the necessity of it. Maggie made herself quite clear to me last night," Mark replied, taking a sip of orange juice. "She doesn't want to get married, at least...not to me."

"Mark, Maggie doesn't know what she wants. She's young; she's impressionable. She gets wild ideas in her head, but that's where you come in, Son. You need to help set her straight," Daniel said, leaning in, his elbows resting on the table. He didn't want Mark to miss a word that he was saying. He would be able to give Maggie everything she needed, help mold her just as he had tried to mold Dana.

He just needed guidance.

"Mark, Maggie's always been headstrong, opinionated. She's so much like her old man it's scary," he chuckled. "She's also gifted, Mark. She's got brains, talent. She's driven. She'll make an excellent attorney."

Smiling at him across the table, Mark picked at the breakfast the server had just delivered. "I've told her the same thing, Dr. Waterston-"

"Daniel."

"Right...Daniel, I'm sorry. I've tried telling her that as well. Maggie is so accomplished at whatever she does; I really hate to see her throw a year and a half of law school down the drain, just like that."

Daniel poked his fork in Mark's face, punctuating each comment with a wave of the utensil. "Exactly, she has too much potential within her to waste on something so stupid as this writing idea. I mean-"

"Excuse me, Sir, but Maggie's writing is brilliant. She's very talented."

"Mark, don't get me wrong. I know my daughter is talented. I'm sure she writes well; that will come in handy when she has to write all those briefs, but to throw that all away, to drop out of law school to become what...some...romance novelist? Not, Maggie, not my daughter," Daniel said, feeling his blood pressure rise even as he thought about her stupidity.

"Daniel, first of all, she doesn't want to become a romance novelist. Although, if she did, I'm sure she'd be a damn good one. She wants to write medical thrillers...believe it or not. She feels with her exposure to medicine over the years, that she might be good at that. You know, the next Robin Cook?" Mark chuckled, his face betraying his affection for Maggie.

"Be that as it may, Mark. It's still an 'undignified' career choice for my daughter. She would be throwing away years of education for what...dabbling in triviality, creative writing, playing with words. What kind of a life is that?"

Daniel contemplated as he chewed. Mark needed to be more assertive with her; he needed to lay down the law to make her see. "Mark, Son, you just need to talk to her some more, make her understand that you only have her best interests at heart. She'll listen to you. She loves you. Maggie will do what you say."

"I don't know, Daniel, the more I thought about it last night, the more I realized she is probably right. What good is it to follow some career path that you know is not what you want? I think she should go for it. If she doesn't, she'll never know for sure. And that's what I'm going to tell her," Mark said, smiling for the first time since he'd sat down. "You should support her, Daniel. Writing's her passion."

It was like a volcano erupting. Daniel, his face beet red with anger, hissed across the table,

"Don't you DARE tell me what Dana's passion is. You have no idea; you are just some sniveling, snot-nosed kid who doesn't have the balls to get the job done. How dare you presume to know her? How dare you presume anything?"

And with that Dr. Daniel Waterston, M.D. exploded from his chair, smashing into the server behind him, sending a large tray careening to the floor. Without so much as a backward glance at the storm he'd left in his wake, he slammed through the room, leaving behind a shocked, and startled wait-staff, and one very concerned and puzzled former, future son-in-law.

"What the hell just happened," Mark uttered, "And who's Dana?"

* * *

STONEYVILLE PENITENTIARY

TWO HOURS SOUTH OF DC

"I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder. I should be on your visitor list. I called this morning about seeing Dr. Neal Samuels," Mulder said, displaying his badge for the guard. "I was told you'd have it all arranged."

"Yes, Agent Mulder, we have Samuels in a conference room awaiting your arrival. If you'll follow me please, we'll get your weapon locked up for safe keeping and then I'll take you right to him," said the young guard, whose arms looked about the diameter of tree trunks. Mulder knew he'd think twice about messing with someone who looked like that.

After locking up his weapon, and traversing several corridors of beige walls and slick linoleum, Mulder and the guard arrived at a metal door. Swiping a card key through the mechanism, the guard punched in several numbers. He then yanked it open, revealing a man dressed in a prison orange jumpsuit. His face was lined, fatigued, and he sported a black eye and a knot, the size of a golf ball, on his forehead.

"I'll be right outside the door, Agent Mulder. Just yell and I'll let you out. You won't have any trouble from this one; he's scared of his own shadow."

"Guard is he alright? He looks like he needs a doctor," Mulder asked, his voice laced with concern. "I'd say he's had a pretty rough go with his shadow."

"He's seen the doctor, Sir. I'll be outside."

Mulder hesitated before walking over to the man seated across from him at a long, wooden conference table. Samuels' eyes were fearful, tracking his every movement. As Mulder finally seated himself, he watched the man flinch, as though he was sure something awful was about to happen.

Pulling a file from his briefcase, Mulder laid it on the table between them. Several papers and glossy photos spilled out across its hardwood surface. Mulder pulled one of the photos out, and slid it across to Samuels.

He sat there, silent, non-responsive, as though he didn't even register the picture in front of him.

"Dr. Neal Samuels?" Mulder asked, attempting to get the man's attention. "Dr. Samuels?"

Nothing, the man had turned out all the lights upstairs and gone to bed. No one's awake in there, Mulder thought. Trying once more, he said, "Dr. Samuels...I'd like to talk to you about Dr. Daniel Waterston."

"Waterston, that son of a bitch. He's a murderer," Samuels' belted out, his face animated for the first time since Mulder had walked into the room. "What else do you want to know?"

"Let's start with your assertion that he's a murderer. What makes you say that?" Mulder asked, trying not to betray his excitement.

Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Samuels' asked, "Do you have a smoke?"

"I'm sorry; I don't smoke."

"Figures. I'm trying to quit, but you know how that goes. Anyway, Waterston, he killed that chick, that doctor they said I murdered, and he got away with it."

"You're saying he killed her, and framed you?" Mulder asked. "Don't you think that would have come out at the trial? You were convicted of her murder, you know. Or have you conveniently forgotten that fact?"

Pointing to his bruised face, and the knot on his head, Samuels replied, "Agent Mulder, I couldn't forget that little fact if I wanted to. I'm reminded every day of my sorry existence that I'm paying for Dr. Waterston's crime...but no one will listen to me. I tried to tell them, but they wouldn't listen to me," he muttered, a tear slipping down his face.

"Well, I'm listening. Do you have proof that he killed Dr. Janice Leonard?"

"No...Agent Mulder. I don't. You have no idea how much I wish I did. However, I have proof that he killed Emergency Technician Ashley Jenkins, but that's a story no one wants to hear."

Standing, Mulder walked to the door, wrapping his knuckles hard against the metal. "Guard...Guard."

The door pushed open, and the guard stuck his head inside the room. "Ready to leave already, Agent Mulder?"

"No, get me a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Dr. Samuels is going to tell me a story."


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN:

THAT AFTERNOON

AT THE LONEGUNMEN'S

"You know...there's something I've never understood," Mulder groused, pushing past Frohike, and entering into the Lone Gunmen's dark and dismal office. "For three of the 21st century's self-proclaimed gizmo geeks-"

"20th century. The 21st century doesn't begin until Jan-"

Mulder grimaced in Langly's face, effectively ending another lecture on the Judeo-Christian calendar, and the millennium debate.

"Langly, I've heard that lecture from a math geek who's a whole lot prettier than you-"

"And I bet she kisses better, too," Frohike mumbled under his breath, sliding into a seat beside the conference table.

Ignoring the softly uttered comment, Mulder continued, "What's with the locks, fellas? I mean, you could steal and install the most sophisticated alarm system known to mankind or 'alienkind' for that matter."

Frohike tossed Mulder a large envelope. Snagging it in mid-air, Mulder proceeded to open it, tearing through the missive with all the finesse of a junk mail junkie.

"Admit it, Frohike, you just get off hearing all the little tumbler sounds," Langly mumbled, his mouth full of pizza as he grabbed a soft drink out of the fridge. "I think you consider those locks your own personal chastity belt. Although, frankly," he said, looking the short man up and down, "I don't know who would want your goods."

"Alright, that's it. Get me the scissors. It's time to see if there's a man under all that hair or just a very butt ugly woman."

Byers, without looking up from the coffee he sipped, said, "Give it a rest, Frohike. You've threatened to cut his locks so many times, he ignores you."

"Who said I was going to cut the dreds; I was aiming my scissors much lower. I figure he looks like a girl, so I might as well help finish the process," he laughed, his eyebrows wiggling with the humor of it all.

Mulder stared at the file, oblivious to the teasing going on behind him. He flipped through the pages, examining photos. As though his legs were suddenly made of rubber, he dropped into a chair. With methodical intent he began to lay sheets of paper out in a line on the conference table.

"Guys, I need to track some dates. Power up those bad boys," he murmured.

"Bad boys... whatcha gonna do.. whatcha gonna do when they come for you... Bad boys, bad boys...what you gonna do.. whatcha..." Frohike and Langley semi-sang, skulking around the room with glee.

"Uh...guys?"

"Sorry, Mulder. What can we say, it's not every day we have a total 'stud' television star at our humble abode," Langly joked, good-naturedly smacking Frohike in the arm.

"Oh...man, did they re-air that last night. Scully's gonna kill me all over again. Damn! Maybe she didn't realize it was on? Her brother, Bill, gave her such a hard time the first time it showed," Mulder whined, dreading the looks he knew he'd get from his more than put out partner.

"I sooo hate the Fox Network."

"What - the network that gave us 'Babes, Broads and Boardrooms, an investigative look into the feminist culture of the nineties'...instant classic, man..."

"Think we could get back to business, guys?" Mulder asked, turning his attention once more to his work.

Byers, who had been seated at the table browsing through a newspaper, wheeled his chair over to one of the computer terminals, ready and waiting.

But Mulder was in a world of his own, sorting papers and making piles. Although there was no outward discernable difference between them, he seemed to have a goal in mind.

"Mulder what are you looking for, dude," Langly asked, peering over his shoulder. Seeing that Mulder was examining Dr. Waterston's conference schedules, he continued. "We went through all those, Mulder. There's nothing. The good doc just traveled a lot, you know, being the 'expert' in his field and all."

"Mmm...hmmm..." Mulder muttered, staring at the piles he made. Reaching into his pocket, he slipped out a small notebook, leafing though it until he'd exposed a page covered in his tight scrawl.

"Pull up Waterston's itinerary for February 23, 1995," Mulder demanded, finally looking up to catch Byers' gaze.

Obviously, something in his look demonstrated how serious he was because the quiet man hit the keyboard full force, his fingers flying across the keys. "Ok...Mulder. Got it. What do you need?" Byers asked, his fingers stilled for the moment.

"Hey, isn't February 23 the lovely Agent Scully's birthday?" Frohike asked.

Ignoring the question, Mulder continued giving instruction to Byers.

"I want you to cross check that date, the good doctor's conference schedule, and...the local Police Department homicide records."

"Alright," Byers said, his computer mouse clicking its way through the various sites as he did Mulder's bidding.

"Dr. Waterston, according to what we've been able to dig up, was in Minneapolis attending an AMA symposium on the role of triage in emergency medicine."

"Good, that tracks with some information I've been given. I now need for you to pull up the Minneapolis police records for that date, and look for a case file on Ashley Jenkins. She was an emergency medical technician, also attending the conference."

"Hey, man, I know you don't like the dude for the head games he's been playing with Scully, but Mulder I-"

Mulder cut Langly off with a shake of his head.

"Ok...got it. According to the Minneapolis Police Department records...the murder of Ashley Jenkins is still unsolved. Ms. Jenkins was murdered on the night of February 23, 1995. Her body was found outside a local nightclub. She'd been stabbed. Since her purse was taken, the police think it was a mugging gone sour. There are no leads, no witnesses-"

"Yes, there are...I just spoke to one," Mulder sighed as he got up and headed over to Byers. "Do me a favor; pull up a picture of Ashley Jenkins."

"Sure, no problem," Byers said, minimizing the homicide record screen and pulling up another. While he worked, Langly and Frohike joined Mulder. Finally, the monitor filled with Ashley Jenkin's driver's license photo. Although, it was obviously not the best photo, Mulder could see the important detail - her red hair.

"Here's the deal, guys. I need you to cross check every one of Dr. Waterston's medical jaunts with unsolved homicide records for those particular cities. Check for corresponding dates. Specifically, we are looking for female victims, probably affiliated in some way with the science or medical profession. And while you're at it, I want you to do the same thing with any other time he's traveled, even if it appears to only be a vacation or some other personal trip. And I needed this yesterday," Mulder requested, sitting back down at the table.

"So where did this intuitive leap in logic come from, Mulder? What makes you think Dr. Waterston had anything to do with Ms. Jenkin's murder?

Not really being aware who asked the question, Mulder replied, "I spent two hours this morning with the guy who not only witnessed that murder, but helped our lothario doctor get rid of the evidence - the purse and the knife.

Regrettably, that's long out of our reach because he did a good job disposing it, but Dr. Waterston doesn't have to know that. Apparently, Waterston was so out of it after he did the deed, he left the details in our witness's hands, and he never asked anything else about it. I think it's time to pay Dr. Waterston another visit, and give him a taste of his own medicine. The stalkee's gonna become the stalker."

Seeing the pained expression on his friend's face as he told his story, Frohike asked, "Mulder, what else aren't you telling us?"

"All the victims, and I'm sure you will find more, will have red hair...Frohike, they'll all have red hair."

"Alright, Mulder, give it up. What else did this witness say?"

* * *

FEBRUARY, 23, 1995

THE CHOCOLATE SHOP

MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA

THE CHOCOLATE SHOP may have been a bizarre name for a bar, but it didn't deter the customers. They packed the place out on a nightly basis. The music, the drink specials, and its proximity to the hospital made it a regular watering hole for the medical community in town. Over the years it had established itself as a place to unwind. For people who lived with life and death stress on a daily basis - doctors, firefighters, cops, EMT's - they all gathered at the 'SHOP.'

Tonight was no exception. It was tame for his tastes, but this is where the AMA conference attendees wanted to go. He'd start his evening here, but finish it up some place with a hell of a lot more life. Food, talk and good music were great, but it just wasn't the kind of evening he had planned. Dr. Neal Samuels needed the seamier side of life to stir his blood. THE CHOCOLATE SHOP was only the first stop in his evening's itinerary.

"Hey, sweets, give Neal a slow comfortable screw, will ya, hon?" he leered at the waitress as she took the table's drink orders. "And, sweetheart, the sloooower... the better."

"Like I haven't heard that one before, 'Hon'," the waitress smirked, making her way through the tight aisles between tables, deftly avoiding Neal's obvious attempts to grab her fanny. She barely looked old enough to meet the legal drinking age, but she knew her way around slobs like him.

"Blown out of the water again, Neal. Torpedoed, and sunk, all by some 'sweet thang' who's young enough to be your daughter. How does your ego take this abuse? I mean, have you EVER been laid?" laughed one of Dr. Samuels' contemporaries as the others at the table nodded in agreement.

Neal ignored the laughter, his gaze focused across the room. The great Dr. Daniel Waterston was seated in the corner, huddled into a darkened booth with a very beautiful woman. What was with that guy? He was duller than a box of rocks, never wanted to have any fun, and yet, women seemed to flock to his side. The few times he'd tried to get ol' Danny to hit the town with him, he'd been politely, but firmly, dismissed.

Before he'd had the chance to evaluate any more of Waterston's behavior, he noticed his colleague and his date slipping from the booth. Daniel helped the woman on with her winter coat. She was quite lovely, almost as tall as he was, with shimmering red hair. Danny boy was doing 'alright.'

Realizing he wasn't going to see any action here, and feeling as welcome as a bad case of the clap, Samuels decided it was time to hit the road. He'd check out the place he'd been to last night. THE STABLE had girls more to his liking anyway. They were a little rougher around the edges, not as fresh faced as Ms. Co-ed, but they knew how to get the job done, and that's all that mattered to him.

Standing, he grabbed his coat, pulled several bills from his wallet, and tossed them into the center of the table. "Since I can't convince any of you slugs to live a little, I'll be heading out. This place is putting me to sleep."

Neal was halfway to the door before he realized no one had even commented on his departure. Twisting, he looked back, the entire populace of the table was engrossed in conversation. Not one had even noticed his absence.

"Fuck 'em," he muttered, heading into the cold night air.

And Lord it was cold. Samuels shivered like he'd been walking for hours, instead of only seconds. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all, he thought as he headed, at a fast clip, down the block to where he'd left his rental car. But that's ok...he'd find someone to thaw out all the important parts...oh...yeah...

As Neal turned the corner, his sedan finally in view, he caught a reflection in a storefront window. It was Waterston, and that redhead from the bar. Daniel seemed to be helping her walk. In fact, he appeared to be practically carrying the woman as she lay limp against him. Funny, she hadn't seemed drunk when they'd left the bar. If anything, she'd seemed more sober than her date.

Stopping, Neal quietly walked to the alley's entrance, and slid behind a dumpster. This should prove to be funny, watching God's great gift to medicine get it on with some drunken babe. Although, by the looks of her, she wouldn't be bringing a whole lot of action to the proceedings. What fun was there in that-?

Waterston stepped beneath a small, bare light bulb, his silhouette visible for the first time as he settled the woman upon the ground. Her body lay still, prostrate against the filthy alley concrete. Waterston looked up, his hands lifted in supplication as he examined the bright red blood staining them. It was as though he didn't recognize his own body, or his hands covered in in the woman's blood.

Neal gasped.

Daniel's eyes tracked the alley, looking for the sound. Searching as though he knew someone was there, his gaze caught Neal in its intensity.

Eyes met, and time stopped as each assessed the situation and his part in the outcome. No words were spoken, not a sound broke the stillness of the winter night, except the panicked exhales of each doctor as he realized the import of what was happening - the unholy alliance he was forming.

Samuels' lips curved upward, a sickening smile overtook his features as he considered all the possibilities. It would be good having the great Dr. Waterston under his thumb. Surely Daniel would understand the way this would work, once his faculties had returned. At the moment, however, Waterston's eyes were wild, glazed over as though he was in a trance.

Crooking his finger in Waterston's direction, Samuels motioned him to follow. Stumbling, the shaky doctor got up, leaving the woman's broken body where he'd laid it. As he approached, Samuels asked, "Did you take her purse?"

"What...no...why would I do that?"

"Take the purse, man. They'll think it was just a mugging. Go on, get it, I'll dispose of it for you," Samuels said, taking the knife from Waterston's hand, and slipping it into a clean handkerchief from his pocket. He walked out of the alley as Waterston retrieved the purse. Finally, Samuels heard footsteps coming up behind him as his new best friend joined him on the sidewalk.

They'd have fun at THE STABLE, but first they'd have to get the good doctor cleaned up, and dispose of the evidence.

Details, nothing more.

If only Neal had realized then, alliances forged in deception rarely worked. He found out later how Waterston had bided his time, being docile at first, gradually slipping farther away from his keeper, until that fateful moment, a couple of years later, when he framed his 'best friend' for the murder of Dr. Janice Leonard.

By then there was nothing Neal could do. How could he prove anything? There was no evidence; he'd gotten rid of that himself. And no one would believe his word against the legend.

Samuels was just a patsy, a plaything to be toyed with by the psychotic genius of a madman.

* * *

PRESENT DAY

MULDER EN ROUTE TO HIS OFFICE

"Mulder."

"Mulder, this consult with VICAP is taking longer than I expected. And something's come up that's going to keep me even longer," came Scully's breathless voice over his cell phone.

"Where are you, Scully? You sound like you're running a marathon," Mulder chuckled, thinking how glad he was to hear her voice. It had been a long day, and with the things he was finding out about Daniel, it looked like it might get even longer.

"Actually, Skinner and I are at the airport, we just raced for the gate, but the plane's been slightly delayed so we have a few minutes after all. Apparently, they need me at a 7:00 p.m. meeting in Boston related to this case, and he's being pulled in to help co-ordinate the DC/Boston team. That's what I was calling about. I tried you earlier, but your phone kept registering as out of range. Where were you, Mulder?"

Stopping for a red light, he ignored her question. His eyes narrowed at the implication of her words. "Boston? You're heading to Boston? How did I get so far out of the loop," Mulder complained, not at all happy with this turn of events. "And why aren't I going there with you?"

"Because you aren't a forensic pathologist? Because this isn't an X-File and because you weren't asked?" Scully laughed.

"Look, Mulder, I'll be back in the morning. I've got the first shuttle out; I should be in the office before you. I'll call you later this evening, and give you the hotel's phone number. But it will be late. We're going directly to the Boston bureau from the airport. Until then you'll have to just try and stay out of trouble. Think you can handle that?"

"Scully, wait...don't hang up yet? Is Skinner there with you?"

"Yeah, he's grabbing a couple of coffees over at the Barney's stand, why?"

"Put him on; I need to tell him something," Mulder asked, wishing he didn't sound like he was ordering her, but fearful that she'd blow him off if he told her the truth behind his request.

"Skinner," boomed the voice at the other end of the line.

"Sir, I need you to do something for me. It's imperative that you understand, and follow through even if I am unable to convince you as to all my reasoning."

"Mulder, what cock and bull story are you going to lay on me now, and do you have to do it at this particular moment? They've just called our plane."

Afraid that he might hang up before he had the chance to relay the seriousness of his request, Mulder blurted his entreaty as quickly as he could. "Look, Sir, don't let Agent Scully out of your sight. I have every reason to believe that she is in grave danger, and while I don't have all the particulars at this moment, I am in the process of gathering them. I repeat...do not let her out of your sight. I think there's more to this stalker, Dr. Waterston, then what first appeared."

"Does Agent Scully know of your concerns, Mulder?"

Taking a deep breath, Mulder sighed, "No Sir, she doesn't. Most of the information I've acquired has been since I last talked to her, and to say that she won't be pleased that I've done this digging-"

"-behind her back?" Skinner whispered as though he was trying to keep the conversation as private as possible.

"-uh...yes...behind her back. Hell, let's just say, she's gonna kick my ass..."

"Is the 'ass kicking' warranted, Mulder? Are you mixing personal with professional? Because if you are, I'm going to be adding my size eleven's to your butt and personally kick it up and down the halls of Hoover.

Do I make myself clear, Agent Mulder?"

"Clear as crystal," Mulder paused, considering his next words, "...off the record, Sir. This is bad. Before it's done I may have linked Dr. Daniel Waterston to several murders, and his motivation, his obsession behind all of this psychotic behavior...is Scully, Sir."

There was a pause at the other end of the line, followed by a deep exhalation. "Mulder, Scully's protection will be my first priority. You can count on it."

"Thank you, Sir. I will have to..." Mulder said as he hit the end signal button on his phone. In the meantime, he thought, it's time to let Dr. Waterston know he's on his trail. Time to put the fear of God in that man, and let him know the score.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT:

DANIEL WATERSTON'S

EARLY EVENING

Mulder drove his bureau issued car down the tree-lined street. As he looked around the quiet residential thoroughfare, he admired the stately oaks that stood at attention like giant toy soldiers, their aged and thick branches, both massive and inspiring.

The expansive canopy above blocked the setting sun's final daylight rays. As it was, shadows skipped across the sidewalks, a prelude to the coming darkness. In another 15 minutes it would be twilight, that lovely time of in-between.

Besides the grand oaks lining the street, there were houses of magnificent proportion. This was an extremely affluent neighborhood. Tall white pillars, brick homes, and long, winding circular driveways were the norm, not the exception. Money flowed through this neighborhood like honey flowed over the streets of Heaven.

'Man...was that another Lexus?' Mulder thought, his eyes drawn to one more opulent vehicle.

Glancing down at the paper where he'd written the address, he halted at the stop sign. Reading the name of the cross street, he lingered at the intersection, deciding his best approach.

'Direct works for me,' he thought, pushing his foot down hard against the accelerator until he was gliding once more through the lifestyles of the rich and famous.

Mulder decelerated as he approached Waterston's home. According to his directions, it should be the large two- story house on the right. It was brick, with black shutters, and a bright red door. The house was magnificent, there was no doubt, but it wasn't nearly as large as its neighbors. The attached three-car garage was grand, and Mulder wistfully smiled at the basketball half-court which took up a large portion of the good doctor's driveway.

Now that was his kind of house.

Too bad the basketball court came with a psychotic, serial killer. Ah well, what's one to do. It's so difficult keeping out the riff-raff; the neighborhood's going to hell in a hand basket.

After snuggling his car up alongside the curb, Mulder opened the driver's door. Just as he closed it, a blue, Ford truck pulled into the Waterston's driveway. Knowing the doctor drove a BMW, he wondered who the guest might be.

He didn't have to wait long as a tall, slim woman emerged from the car. A lanky guy with wavy red hair accompanied her. They were laughing, obviously enjoying each other's company so much that they failed to notice him strolling up the sidewalk. The fact they'd just embraced in a manner, which left nothing to the imagination as to what they meant to each other, probably had something to do with how oblivious they were to his approach.

"Uh...hmm...Excuse me, is this Dr. Daniel Waterston's home?"

As though they'd just been caught necking on the front porch after the prom, the woman and her escort broke hurriedly apart. Self-consciously chuckling, they seemed to realize how foolish their nervousness was. They were adults, and it was their driveway.

The woman spoke first.

"This is Dr. Waterston's home. I'm his daughter, Maggie. May I help you?"

Mulder pulled his I.D. out of his jacket pocket. Flipping the case open, he said, "I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder, of the FBI. I was hoping to speak to Dr. Waterston. Is he home?"

With the mention of FBI, Maggie and her friend exchanged apprehensive glances. Finally, the young man spoke.

"Dr. Waterston should be home any minute. Is there a problem, Agent Mulder? I'm Mark Peters, Maggie's fiancé."

"I just need to speak with Dr. Waterston concerning a couple of concurrent cases I'm working. I think he might be able to help me clear up a few things," Mulder replied.

Turning to Maggie, he continued, "So, you're Dr. Waterston's daughter? I'm Agent Scully's partner. I believe you know each other. She has mentioned you."

"Yes, I know Dana Scully," Maggie answered, her eyes narrowing as though she was considering this information.

"Dana?...You know Daniel mentioned a 'Dana' the other morning at breakfast," Mark volunteered, "In fact he seemed quite agitated about her. I wonder if she is the same one."

The hairs on the back of Mulder's neck stood up. "When was this, Mr. Peters? And in what context was she discussed?"

"Agent...Mulder? I'm not sure I should be discussing a private conversation with you without Daniel's permission. You understand, I'm sure?" Mark said, apparently unsure about what he'd just revealed, and dismissing Mulder with the tone of his voice.

"Look, why don't we take this conversation inside. There's no need to provide gossip for the whole neighborhood," Maggie encouraged, her own anxiety evident as she directed their attention to the woman across the street collecting her mail.

"Agent Mulder, come in; I'll fix us all something cold to drink, and we can talk in private."

The threesome headed up the walkway to the front door. Just as Maggie was inserting the key into the lock, the sounds of screeching tires filled the air. Dr. Waterston's BMW swerved into the driveway. Barely missing the bumper of Maggie's truck, he slammed on the brakes.

Banging open the car door, he was out of the vehicle so fast it barely seemed like he had time to put it into park.

"What the hell is going on around here? And who said that YOU could come into my house?" Waterston screamed at Mulder, oblivious to the stares of the woman across the street, and his own daughter's confused expression.

"Agent Mulder, if you need to speak to me, you should make an appointment and come to my office. But frankly, I don't see that we have any more to say to each other. Is it necessary for me to get your superiors involved because you can't seem to keep your personal life separated from your professional?"

"Dad, what's gotten into you? Agent Mulder's with the FBI and-"

"Maggie, I know who Agent Mulder is. He's partnered with Dana. But apparently he feels it's the bureau's prerogative to poke its nose, and the tax payers' money, into the personal affairs of its agents. In which case he can explain to his superiors why he used those credentials, for non-bureau business, to gain access to my home," Waterston seethed, drawing their attention to the badge Mulder still held in his hand.

"Daniel, Maggie invited Agent Mulder into the house. She thought it might be beneficial to discuss things out of the prying eyes of your neighbors," Mark admonished, trying to calm Daniel down with his explanation.

"Oh...she did, did she? And who gave Maggie permission to invite ANYONE into MY home, let alone some love struck agent who hides behind a bureau badge in order to gain the information he seeks to bolster his voyeuristic perversions."

"Dad!"

"Dr. Waterston, I'd be more than happy to discuss my 'voyeuristic perversions' with you down at the bureau. I just thought you might prefer we discuss things in a less formal atmosphere. I had no idea that you would be so opposed to me stopping by your home. Is there any particular reason why you might find this offensive?" Mulder queried, his eyes steely as they met Waterston's own angry gaze.

Apparently realizing how out of control he was, Mulder saw Dr. Waterston consciously make an effort to pull himself together. His entire demeanor changed before Mulder's eyes. One minute he had been screaming like a banshee, now he appeared calm and collected, just as he'd been the first time they met.

"Agent Mulder, I'm sorry to have flown off the handle like that. I realize you wouldn't be here if you didn't have a reason. However, it seems to me your reasons may be, shall we say, colored by your relationship with Dana," Daniel said, his voice quiet and sure.

"Dr. Waterston, what would make you believe that Agent Scully and I have anything more than a professional relationship? That's the second time you've mentioned that."

Waterston began to speak, then stopped as though he reconsidered something. His eyes shifted from Maggie, to Mark, and back to Mulder. Arrogance filled not only his gaze, but his stance as well. He stood taller, more confident.

"Agent Mulder, why are you here? Why did you need to stop by my home?"

"Perhaps, Dr. Waterston, you'd like to discuss this in private... inside," Mulder asked, his eyes tracking the curious, sideways looks between Maggie and Mark.

"No...let's do it here; I have nothing to hide from my daughter. What do you want?"

Reaching into his pocket, Mulder withdrew several pictures. He flipped the first one over, and heard Maggie's gasp as she registered the photo's image.

"I know that person...that's...that woman, Dr. Azar. The one that helped dad when he was in the hospital," she whispered, her face suddenly ashen.

"Dr. Waterston have you ever seen this woman before?" Mulder asked, his eyes unwavering, ignoring Maggie's obvious distress.

With barely a glance at the picture, Waterston raised his head, looking Mulder directly in the eye. Holding his gaze, he said,

"No. I have not."

Slowly Mulder turned over several more pictures, handing them one at a time to Waterston. Each one was macabre and surreal, and stacked together they were like some horrific deck of playing cards.

Maggie slumped against Mark as the final picture changed hands. She appeared anxious and distraught, her skin the color of eggshells. Yet Waterston did not register her torment. He was mesmerized with the pictures, his expression, placid and serene. Gently he touched each image, until finally, as though shaking himself from a trance, he turned the photos over and raised his eyes.

Shoving them together in a neat pile, he dangled the crime scene photos from his hand. Then he glanced at his daughter, seeing her shaken countenance for the first time.

"Mark, I think you had better take Maggie inside. I think she needs to sit down," Waterston directed. "I'll finish up with Agent Mulder and check on her in a moment."

"Actually, Daniel, I think I'm gonna take Maggie home," Mark said, watching Maggie nod her head in affirmation. "I think she'd feel better there. We'll call you...later."

Mark, with his arm slipped tightly around Maggie's shoulders, walked her towards their truck. Settling her into the passenger seat, he got behind the wheel. With hardly a backward glance he peeled out of the driveway into the darkened street.

"Dr. Waterston, now that our audience has departed, let's cut the bullshit," Mulder said, his voice low and charged.

"Exactly what are you referring to, Agent Mulder? I've told you I don't know Dr. Azar, and if you are by any means intimating I knew these other women, I believe it's time I called my attorney."

Taking the photos from Dr. Waterston's outstretched fingers, Mulder slipped them back inside his suit pocket. "You seemed rather taken with the photos, Dr. Waterston...almost mesmerized. Are you certain these women are unfamiliar to you?"

"Agent Mulder, I know you don't like me. You don't like the fact that I have a relationship with your 'partner'. And-"

"-had a relationship, Dr. Waterston. According to Scully that was over long ago, and she quite clearly informed you of that."

"Scully? How intimate...perhaps, I was wrong. Perhaps your interest in me stems from the fact you are getting nowhere with Dana. Is that it, Agent Mulder... unrequited sexual tension? I hear it can be a real bitch," Waterston sneered into Mulder's face.

Turning his back on the agent, Daniel searched for his house keys. Throwing the words over his shoulder as he slid the key into the lock, Daniel whispered, "Just between you and me, Fox. It's difficult with a strong willed woman; she has a mind of her own, and seems to think she knows what's best for herself."

"Is that what happened here?" Mulder asked, grabbing Daniel by the arm and spinning him back around. Waterston dropped the keys to the ground as Mulder shoved the picture of Dr. Janice Leonard in his face.

"She thought she knew what was best for herself? She dared to ignore the great Dr. Waterston...just like Dana did all those years ago."

Shrugging off Mulder's hand, Waterston bent and picked up his keys.

"Dana made her decisions, Agent Mulder. I may not have agreed with them, but she's a big girl, and she chose to live her life her own way. I think, however, she's been seeing the error of those ways. Like I told her when she visited me in the hospital, she was there because of what she secretly longed for...that which you cannot provide," Waterston whispered, his gaze resolute.

Sliding the key once more into the front door lock, Waterston dismissed Mulder with his body language. No longer talking, he turned the key until the deadbolt snapped free.

Refusing to be dismissed, Mulder took several steps forward into Waterston's space. He firmly grabbed the doctor's arm again, spinning him around to face him once more. This time Mulder pressed his body firmly against the doctor's, backing him up against the brick wall outside the front door. With his forearm pressed tightly against his throat, Mulder quietly spoke.

"Let me be succinct, and perfectly clear, Dr. Waterston. I know you killed these women. I know it, without a doubt. I can't prove it yet, but I will-"

"Look, Agent Mulder."

"Don't interrupt, 'Daniel'. Somewhere in that twisted brain of yours you've gotten the idea that you know what's best for people, what's best for Scully. Something's snapped, Doctor. Maybe you don't even realize it. But you are punishing these women for the choice Dana made all those years ago. It's only a matter of time before I can pin these murders on you. And I promise you, I will."

Dr. Waterston brought his arms up between them, shoving at Mulder's forearm, pushing him back several feet. Mulder considered his options, tamping down the rage that boiled within him as he contemplated the monster before him.

"Agent Mulder, you will leave, NOW. If you are not off my property within the next 30 seconds, I will be calling the police, my attorney, and whoever else might claim you at the bureau. You need a leash, Agent Mulder. I'm surprised they allow you out with unsupervised visits," Dr. Waterston seethed, ignoring Mulder's threats.

As though he had gained his second wind, Waterston continued, "No wonder Dana has so much discontent... and struggles with the knowledge of her mistakes. I'd thi-"

"Let me tell you what you'll think. You will stay away from Dana Scully. You will not come near her. You will not even breathe the same air she does. If you think I'm going to let her become the next victim of your psychotic, delusional state, you are dead wrong. You will stay the hell away from her, you son of a bitch...because, Dr. Waterston..." Mulder paused for emphasis, walking forward once more into his space.

"If I see you anywhere near her, I will kill you. Do I make myself clear? Hang the consequences, I will take you out."

With that Mulder turned and headed back down the driveway to his car. His body trembled with restrained anger, realizing Dr. Waterston was too far-gone to listen to anything he said.

Sliding behind the wheel, Mulder pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "Matthews, I'm leaving. Get your ass over here. I want the good doctor buttoned up tight...Yeah, I've pushed his buttons, and I don't want him out of the house without a tail. Understand? He does not leave this house...I don't want him going out tonight trolling...uh...huh... he's wound tight. But that's what I wanted. We'll wait for Dr. Waterston to make a mistake."

Punching the 'end call' button on his phone, Mulder turned his key in the ignition, and pulled away from the curb. As he picked up speed, he looked into his rearview mirror. Dr. Waterston still stood on the entryway outside his front door. If looks could kill, Mulder knew he'd be a dead man.

* * *

AGENT SCULLY'S HOTEL ROOM, BOSTON

11:30P.M.

Scully wrapped her robe tightly around her body, reveling in the warmth. It had been a long day. From the moment she'd left Mulder in his office that morning, until she'd stepped from that elevator half an hour ago, she had not stopped running. Meeting after meeting with regards to her findings for the task force had kept her so busy she hadn't even had the time or energy for dinner. Now she was so tired, the thought of chewing was ludicrous, no matter how hungry she might be.

And her shadow...Assistant Director Skinner, had made his presence known ever since he spoke on the phone with Mulder. If he weren't in direct contact with her, he had someone else acting as his eyes at all times. She knew it was Mulder's doing, and their boss's attempt to keep her safe.

He'd finally given in, after repeated prodding on her part, and told her what Mulder had said. If she hadn't been so damned busy, she would have strung them both up by their Y-chromosomes. As it was, she'd barely had time to breathe, let alone worry that her A.D. might be worrying too much about her welfare.

She'd finally shook him for the evening, but not before he'd insisted on examining her hotel room. With confidence that Daniel wasn't hiding in her closet, or under her bed, Skinner had finally retired to his connecting room. He had been like an overprotective bulldog, but his intent had been commendable.

Hitting speed dial she lay back against the pillows, her fingers trailed across the lip of a glass of ice water. Skinner had even gone to the ice machine for her, determined that she not even do something as trivial as that on her own.

"Mulder."

"Mulder, thanks for the watchdog...It's not every day a girl gets a gorgeous man-servant at her beck and call," Scully purred, feeling not the least bit guilty with her intimation. "I never knew what it could be like having the A.D. wanting to service my every need, Mulder."

Scully heard Mulder's choked breathing as he struggled with words. "He told you, didn't he?"

"Told me what, Mulder? Told me that you think my former lover is a serial killer? Or told me that you thought the Assistant Director should become my very personal bodyguard?"

"Scully, I didn't have time to explain everything to you. I'm still gathering evidence, but suffice it to say that your friend, Dr. Waterston, is not a very nice man. In fact, he may make Ted Bundy look like a choirboy."

With an exasperated huff, Scully said, "Look, Mulder. I told you that you'd have to prove to me that Daniel was involved with Colleen's murder...that I wouldn't blindly follow you down this alley. Have you gotten proof? Is that what you are trying to tell me?"

"Scully, not only did he murder Dr. Azar, but I believe he may have killed as many as seven other women in the last ten years-"

"Mulder, you are crazy! There's no way Daniel is some psychotic serial killer. You can't prove that-"

"No, I can't, not yet. But I have enough circumstantial evidence linking him to these women that even you will have to listen to me. I'll show you tomorrow when you get home. What time will you get in, Scully?"

Rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, Scully realized she was long past exhaustion. And with Mulder's wild allegations circling her brain, she knew sleep would be difficult tonight.

"I'll be in early, Mulder. I should be at the office by 9:30. There's really nothing more I can do here."

"Well you can sleep safely, Scully. I have a tail on Waterston. My guy's making sure he doesn't leave the house. If he does, he'll call me...I miss you, Scully."

Sighing, Scully whispered into the phone, "I miss you, too, you obstinate ass. I'll be home tomorrow, early. Have the coffee ready?"

"Ah...Scully, you know I make shitty coffee," Mulder whined.

"I know...but I've acquired a taste for it, kind of like the man who makes it."

"Goodnight, Scully...I love you."

"I love you, too, Mulder," Scully replied, hanging up the phone. Untying her robe, she let it slip to the floor. Pulling back the covers she slipped between the sheets. As she turned out the light, she thought about tomorrow. She'd really have to see Daniel now. She needed to get to the bottom of this before Mulder's allegations got any wilder.

Daniel could not be a serial killer, could he?


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE:

NEXT MORNING

Sitting at his mahogany desk, he stares...transfixed

...at absolutely nothing.

Beneath his feet and spread across the plush, sand colored carpeting like colorfully scattered fallen leaves, are dozens of photographs. The macabre, disheveled display vividly illuminates his madness, his final break with reality. Intermingled are photos of him and a vibrant, young medical student with shoulder length scarlet hair, the visage of his smiling, fourteen-year-old daughter, and the haunting faces of dead women.

The protégé, the legacy, and the damned.

Daniel tenderly holds two pictures - one, taken just a week ago, is of Maggie and Mark, sitting on a porch swing. Their laughing faces tell it all. His daughter had been so happy. Briefly, he had embraced a son-in-law.

The other is of Dana, her lips adorned with a shy, wistful smile as her partner shoves a lock of hair behind her ear. A year ago, when the urge to see her had nearly consumed him with its intensity, Daniel had been bold. Coming close enough to have been detected, he'd taken several shots of her and Mulder on an apparent lunch break.

Sighing, Daniel reaches into the desk drawer and pulls out a pair of scissors. Gently holding the portrait of his daughter, he methodically cuts Mark's image from the picture, being careful not to damage Maggie's likeness in any way. He lets the paper scrap slowly float to the floor where it lands among the chaotic ruin.

Picking up Dana's picture, he repeats the process, removing all signs of Mulder. Only this time his scissors' slice through the tiny likeness until there is nothing left but glossy confetti littered across his desk like candy sprinkles atop a birthday cake.

Holding the two mutilated photos, he smiles, reflecting upon his girls and the innocence and naiveté of youth. Each is so very different in appearance, in aptitude, in all that really counts, and yet, they are so much alike. Both are brilliant; both have the world at their feet.

If they choose wisely...

With that thought, his smile fades, wiped away as quickly as it comes, leaving behind only the mask of a maniac. Daniel's feverish eyes frantically track his study, searching, seeking, desperate for something...he can't remember, but something he knows has to be there.

Finally, recollection stirs him and he pushes up from his chair. He walks across the room to the seascape painting hanging from the wall, pausing to reflect on its grandeur. It is an ocean view of La Jolla on that perfect day, a commissioned piece from an artist who'd painted everything to his rigorous specifications. It is another reminder of his and Dana's deep abiding love.

Grasping the frame's edge, he pulls it towards him, swinging the painting out on a secreted hinge. It is old-fashioned, a wall safe hidden behind a portrait. Archaic and un-poetic it may be, but comfortable to him like the rest of this office sanctuary.

He twirls the tiny numbers, and waits for the tumblers to click into place. Finally, Daniel yanks the lever down, revealing the safe's interior. He reaches inside and pulls out a handgun.

Removing it, he takes the unfamiliar weight into his hand, turning it over and over, palming its smoothness. As he familiarizes himself with the cold steel, he slides it against the stubble on his cheek, caressing it, stroking it, and loving it. With resolve he places it into the waistband of his slacks.

As he walks by the desk, he trails his fingers through the confetti remains of Mulder's presence. Picking up the mangled photos of Maggie and Dana, he shoves them into his pocket. This time, as he exits his haven, he doesn't worry about locking locks, or turning off lights. There are more important things on his mind.

It's time to protect the ones he loves.

* * *

HOOVER BUILDING

SAME TIME

Scully's heels clicked an agitated tempo against the corridor's linoleum floors. Glancing at her tall, imposing companion, she gave a rueful grimace as they stopped outside his outer office door.

"Sir, I really think the bodyguard routine can stop now. You are relieved of duty, soldier," she smiled even though she'd had it up to here with both Mulder and Skinner. "I'm sure I'm quite safe in the FBI building."

"Agent Scully, until I get an update from Mulder, I'm not leaving my post," Skinner replied, seemingly content to carry on with her armed services analogy.

"In that case, Sir, you are relieved," Mulder's voice broke between them as he walked out of Skinner's office. "Thank you for your diligence."

"Agent Mulder, you know the safety of my agents is always paramount to me. I've done nothing I wouldn't do for any one of my people."

"I know, Sir, but -"

"Damn it all to hell. When you two are finished flexing your big Rambo muscles, puffing your plumage and strutting like a couple of proud peacocks, let me know. I have work to do," Scully said, throwing a disgusted look at both of them as she headed for the elevators.

"Of course, I'll go only if you think I can possibly descend to the basement on my own. I mean, you never know what sort of nefarious creature might be hiding in the bowels of Hoover," she snorted, ignoring her colleague's stares.

"Something more nefarious than Mulder? Couldn't be," Agent Carlson joked, sliding over to make room for her in the elevator.

"Oh, and when you two are finished discussing MY LIFE, I'd appreciate a word with you, Mulder," Scully finished as the elevator doors swished closed.

Skinner and Mulder stared at the elevator as though each had just seen the eighth wonder of the world. Sighing, Skinner opened his office door, saying, "You know, Mulder, there's something about that woman and elevators. It was on that very one that she once kissed me."

"Then maybe you should go talk to her, Sir. When I tell her what I've been up to, she's going to tell me that I should pucker up and kiss her ass," he mumbled, dejectedly walking toward the elevator.

"Don't even go there...Walter; don't even go there," Skinner murmured to himself, softly closing the door behind him.

* * *

X-FILES BASEMENT OFFICE

"Ok, Scully, I'm sorry. I just-"

As he pushed open his office door and crossed the threshold, Mulder's sentence was swallowed whole by Scully's enthusiastic mouth, her tongue wickedly plying open his lips and slithering past his teeth. As she greedily gulped his words, she reached behind him, locking the door.

Obviously, Mulder decided there are moments for introspection and confession and this wasn't one of them because he responded in kind to her initiative. Groaning he backed her up against the desk, his body firmly pressed into her own.

Scully rubbed against him, purposefully giving response to innuendo. This was pure seduction on her part, and she was thoroughly enjoying it. She had ached for him last night, and no matter his Neanderthal ways she knew her safety was all that mattered to him. Sometimes that could be more seductive and intoxicating than words.

Sliding her hands between them, she grasped the buckle on his belt, removing the tiny metal piece from its leather holes. Flicking open his slack's inner clasp, she pulled the zipper tab, slowly sliding it down its teeth. Inwardly she smiled, noticing his indrawn breath as her hand skimmed his burgeoning erection. Completing her maneuvers, she separated the edges of his slacks.

"Scully?"

"Sh..." she murmured, sensuously sliding her tongue against his. Reveling in the salty tang that was he, she pulled his tongue into her mouth, providing steady suction to it with her lips, leaving no doubt as to her intentions.

He was about to get very lucky.

Being the smart boy that he was, Mulder stepped up to the plate. There was no need to coach him further; he had every intention of hitting a homerun. He placed his hands around her waist, momentarily lifting her against him.

Realizing the cliché of the moment, but not really giving a damn, she chuckled as he lifted her gently, parking her fanny on the edge of his desk.

"Have you been delving into my video collection, Scully?" Mulder asked, carefully removing each button on her blouse from its mooring. "Because if you have, I heartily approve."

"I'm improvising here, Mulder. Work with me. You're always accusing me of over analyzing, not being able to be spontaneous. I'm going with the moment."

As she continued to stroke him through his boxers, Mulder groaned, "Any more spontaneous, Scully, and I think we're gonna combust."

Finally, accomplishing his task he pulled her blouse's silken edges apart, baring her to his hungry eyes. With a mischievous look, he bent, his teeth grasping the front closure of her bra, opening it.

Pushing aside the tiny silken scraps, he nuzzled at her breasts, placing tiny butterfly kisses against them until she grasped his head, guiding his course. Opening his mouth, he encircled one erect nipple with his lips, lathing it with the moisture from his mouth, then greedily latching on.

Fighting the urge to just lay back and give in to the intense feelings, Scully continued the work she'd begun. She slid her hands into the top edges of his boxers, drawing her fingers around in front to cup his erection.

She didn't need foreplay; she needed him.

Now.

Comprehension dawned as Mulder pulled back from his previous task and slid his hands up under her skirt, lifting it to her waist.

Sliding herself forward even farther to edge of the desk, she wrapped her legs around his waist as he firmly grasped her buttocks. Placing her hands at Mulder's hips, she forcefully drew him into her.

A loud thud broke through the sounds of rustling clothes, soft sighs and murmurs.

"What was that?" Mulder breathlessly asked, without stopping any further to investigate. He was too busy exploring the tender spots near her clavicle, marking her with gentle suction.

Moaning, Scully's hands freed him from his boxers, her hands impatiently stroking his straining flesh.

"I believe that was the 'I dream of Jeannie' report. The one that was due on Skinner's desk yesterday."

"Ah...well, he's waited this long, what's a few more minutes?" Mulder replied, guiding himself into her.

Thankfully, she'd worn thigh highs so their joining was swift and sure without the fumbling maneuvers of divesting panty hose. One moment they'd been playing around, the next he was filling her to completion, his moans silenced against her breasts as he came.

Biting her tongue, she swallowed her own groans of satisfaction until the only sounds heard in the office were the rhythmic slapping of their bodies against each other, the tiny squeak of the desk upon its castors, and the harsh swallows of their heavy breathing.

As quickly as it had begun, it was finished, with each spiraling high in climax. As Mulder started to pull away, Scully sat up, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, holding him firmly against her. He sagged into her embrace; his own arms enfolding her so much that she wasn't sure where he ended and she began. Thus they remained as their breathing softened, each coming slowly back to reality.

Sliding his fingers up the back of her hair, he brought them forward to her face, palming her cheeks within his large hands. He was still within her body, even though she felt the diminishment of his ardor. His eyes pierced her, looking into her soul. She felt as though this was allowing him more intimate entrance then that which she'd just provided with her body.

Not backing down from the intensity of his gaze, she paused, then whispered, "I missed you." Her lips grazed once more at the corner of his mouth.

Slipping from within her, Mulder tenderly straightened her skirt, and tucked himself back into his slacks. Pulling one of her hands to his lips, he kissed her fingers, his breath delicately nudging at each fingertip.

"Welcome home, Scully. If I'd known one night apart would fuel such passion, I'd have-"

"Still hated us being apart," Scully laughed, jumping down from the desk, and heading for the door. She needed to use the facilities down the hall.

"Exactly, Scully. As good as this was, I hate the reasons for the homecoming."

"Before you're too smug, and your head gets any bigger, I still expect answers. When I get back, you had better be able to supply them, soldier," she said, her tone of voice firm with its intent. "And I refuse to re-do that report. If it's been ruined, you're fixing it."

"Yes, ma'am. Your wish is my command," he saluted, his fingers waggling at the back of her head as she left the office. Picking up the undamaged report from the floor, he considered what he was going to have to tell her about Daniel.

Perhaps going AWOL wasn't such a bad idea after all.

* * *

"You've taken wham, bam, thank you ma'am way too much to heart, Mulder. Where the hell are you now?" Scully hissed into her cell phone. "Is it your life's mission to drive me insane?"

"I don't suppose you'd believe there was a UFO sighting in the DC area, and they called me into investigate?"

"I'm the skeptic, Mulder, remember?" Scully groused, pacing impatiently in Skinner's outer office. "I get back from the washroom and find you've gone on the lamb again...and to top it off, you haven't delivered that report to Skinner, and now he's screaming for it. You realize I have to explain how this 500-year-old smart-ass genie lived in a carpet and not a bottle. I hate you, Mulder."

"I'm sorry, Scully. My man called...the one I had tailing Waterston. There's some concern there might have been foul play at the good doctor's home. I'm here following up on it."

Scully heard the excitement in Mulder's voice. He was up to no good, and she knew it. "Where exactly are you, Mulder. Don't tell me you have entered Daniel's home without a search warrant?"

"Ok...Scully, I won't tell you that," came Mulder's muffled and whispered reply.

"Damn it, Mulder. You can't just go in there. Anything you find will be tainted by your illegal search. You know that."

"Scully, I'm just responding to a neighbor's concern. Apparently, there was some sort of a loud disturbance, as though Waterston's house was being ransacked. When I arrived, the woman from across the street was standing in his driveway, pointing to his open front door. Something's happened here, Scully. There's definitely probable cause for me entering this home. And even if there weren't, I'm beyond that."

"Mulder, what's going on? Your voice faded out. I can't hear you," Scully asked, wishing she were with him.

"Scully, where are you?" Mulder's voice broke in after several seconds.

"I told you; I'm getting ready to meet with Skinner to go over this report."

"Good. Stay there. I'm on my way back. Scully, he's insane. His home is trashed, as though a wild man's gone through here. It looks like Colleen Azar's place, only worse. And Scully, he has pictures...pictures of the murder victims. There are even more than I realized."

Sitting down on the couch across from Kimberly's desk, Scully stared, her gaze frozen on Skinner's closed door. She didn't utter a sound, or move a muscle.

"Scully...Scully! Are you there?"

"Yes, Mulder. I'm here. I heard you. I just...just am having trouble processing this."

"Hang on, Scully. I'm being beeped. Someone else's trying to get through -"

"Agent Scully, are you alright?" Kimberly asked, her concern evident on her features. "Can I get you some water? You look pale."

"No...thanks, Kim. I'm fine. I just-"

Coming back on line, the urgency of Mulder's voice broke through. "Scully, listen. My guy tailing Daniel has lost him. I repeat; he lost him. Daniel picked up Maggie, but then, somehow, eluded his tail. I don't know where he is. Do not leave Skinner, Scully. I'm headed back to Hoover. I should be there in fifteen minutes. Scully...Scully, promise me that you'll stay put."

"I'm not going anywhere, Mulder. I'll see you when you get back," Scully murmured, as their connection was broken.

* * *

Scully felt as though the walls were closing in on her. She couldn't breathe. Daniel...a serial killer, obsessed with her. It couldn't be. Not the Daniel she'd known, the one who had so enthralled a young, naive woman. He had been obsessive, yes, to the point of distraction, but he had never exhibited any psychotic tendencies. This whole thing was a nightmare.

Scully stepped from the parking garage elevator, entering the underground level. It had been twenty minutes, and she knew Mulder should be pulling in shortly. She had gotten tired of waiting inside for him. Skinner had been pulled into a conference call and their meeting had been cancelled. After practically pacing a hole in the carpeting in front of Kim's desk, Scully felt the need to remove herself from concerned, but prying eyes.

Instead, she'd found her way here, having walked on autopilot through the corridors. Looking across the lot, she saw Mulder stepping from his car. He must have just pulled in. He hadn't seen her yet.

"Mulder!"

"Scully, what are you doing down here?" he shouted, aggravation evident in his voice as he realized she hadn't stayed with Skinner. "Stay there; we need to go back up and talk to Skinner."

Scully leaned against one of the pillars waiting for Mulder to get to her. Perhaps, because her mind still wandered, still tried to process the last couple of days, Scully didn't immediately respond to the incoming screech of tires.

A small BMW rounded the corner.

Mulder, regrettably, had been distracted, his body bending over to pick up a picture that he'd dropped. It wasn't until he heard Scully's voice, which only sounded like a piercing shriek to her own ears, that he looked up. His face barely had time to register shock before the vehicle descended upon him. He twisted his body in an attempt to avoid the car, but it was too little, too late. With impact Mulder was thrown like a broken rag doll across the hood and onto the cement floor, hitting hard, and rolling between two cars.

Before Mulder even hit the ground, Scully was running, trying to get to him. As she approached where his body lay, prone and bleeding, the BMW screamed to a halt. Dr. Waterston pointed a handgun out his window, directly at her head.

"Get into the car, Dana," he urged, his voice insistent.

"You bastard! I...I have to see about Mulder. What have you done?"

"I've removed a nuisance, an impediment to our future. Get into the car, Dana. Now!"

Noting Scully's hesitation, Daniel directed his weapon toward Mulder's still figure. Stroking the trigger with his forefinger, he whispered, "I suggest you get into this car NOW, Dana, or I will make sure the man is dead. It makes no difference to me."

Daniel's eyes blazed with insanity's fever. There was no doubt; he'd pull the trigger.

"Maggie, open the door, sweetheart. That's it...slide over, dear. Make room for Dana. But first, Dana," Daniel paused, his gun never wavering from Mulder's unconscious form, "hand me your weapon - handle first."

Sliding her service revolver from the holster beneath her blazer, Scully held it out to him. As he brought it inside his window, she stepped to the passenger side, and squeezed into the small front seat next to a traumatized Maggie.

Scully murmured a fervent prayer as Daniel's car sped towards the exit. She prayed that whoever was watching the parking garage security monitors would get to Mulder quickly.

He had to be alive. There was no other alternative.

Even as they rammed through the garage exit gates, sending pieces of striped plywood flying through the air, she beseeched God for Mulder's life.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN:

MARK PETER'S HOME

SAME DAY

Scully's arms ached. It had been almost an hour since Maggie had duct taped her hands securely behind her back. As though Maggie had been in a trance, her body following her father's directions without really comprehending its actions, she had methodically wrapped the sticky tape around Scully's wrists. Regrettably, this time Scully wouldn't be able to get her hands in front of her as she had with Pfaster. Maggie had done her job too well.

At first, Scully had not tried to resist. As the car had screamed out of the building and down the street, she had felt sure it was only a matter of time before they would be stopped. Daniel had kidnapped her from the Hoover Building, not a playground. The parking garage, supposedly, had video cameras.

At least that's what she had thought.

Daniel had maneuvered the small car with all the finesse of a NASCAR driver, skimming in and out of alleyways and side streets, until he felt secure enough to slow his speed.

She realized the quick capture she'd hoped for was not going to happen.

Now, almost an hour later, he was pulling the BMW into an unfamiliar driveway, and she was no closer to knowing if Mulder was alive or dead.

She had forced herself to deny that pain, knowing that if she succumbed to its sharp intensity, she might as well curl up in a ball and wither away.

The garage door was open, revealing a red convertible, its top up, parked within. The car was situated on the right side of the garage, a vacant space, just to its left.

"Dana?"

Hearing Daniel's soft entreaty, Scully turned her head in his direction. His agitated state made her position precarious enough; she didn't want to further inflame him. She felt deep within her soul that Mulder still lived, and she needed to stay alive in order to return to him.

"Daniel. Please cut these bonds," she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "I promise to not make trouble, but my arms are numb. I can't feel my fingers."

Daniel looked at her, his gaze reading the pain in her eyes. Turning to Maggie he said, "Did you make the bonds too tight, Maggie? Did you do as I said, or did you cut off her circulation? There's no need for her to be in any pain. I don't want that."

Maggie's terrified eyes did nothing more than vacantly gaze out the windshield. Finally, as though her voice came from far away, she replied, "I did as you said, Dad. They aren't too tight."

"Good girl. I'm glad you listened to your old man. Now, Maggie, here's what I want you to do. I want you to walk to Mark's front door, open it, and ask him to step into the garage. Tell him I'm having car trouble. Can you do that, Maggie?" he asked, his fingers gently sliding under her chin, turning it and lifting it towards him.

Not allowing her to pull away, he continued. "Can you follow my instructions?"

Her lip trembling as she answered, she whispered, "Yes, Dad, I'll do as you say."

"Good girl," he murmured, his fingers tightening against her chin until she squealed in pain, "...Because if you don't, Maggie, if you disobey me in any way, I will shoot Dana. Then I will take this gun, and I will shoot Mark. Do you understand? I will kill him right before your eyes. You will be responsible for the deaths of two people. Are you ready to accept the consequences for your actions?"

"Yes."

"Good, now go get Mark."

Daniel opened the driver's side door and slid out of the car. As Maggie slid across the seat, Scully shot him a venomous look. Apparently, she communicated too much because he stayed Maggie's forward motion.

"Maggie, honey, do one more thing for your old man, will you, dear? I want you to wrap Dana's ankles with the duct tape - good and securely, too. We don't want our little agent getting ideas now, do we Agent Scully?"

"Daniel, why are you doing this? There's no need. If you wanted to talk, all you had to do was ask. I'd have come with you...there was no need to...hurt...to hurt Mulder, or to kidnap us," Scully reasoned, her voice as measured and calm as she could make it. "Please, Daniel, before it's too late. Let us go."

"Dana, you and I will talk later. There's so much I need to say to you, and I do regret the way this must be. But it is your fault. I gave you every opportunity to come to me. I did ask-"

"-Daniel I didn't understand. I didn't-"

"-My gifts were an invitation that you not only turned down, but also repeatedly ignored. I can see you are as strong willed as ever, and that my work with you will take some time. But don't worry, Dana, every relationship has its ups and downs; we'll get through this. And when we're done, our love will have endured and strengthened. Because you are the one."

As he spoke, Maggie bent down, and began winding the tape around Scully's ankles. Finally, she looked up, her eyes pleading with Scully for understanding. Taking the tape between her teeth, she tore off the last strip, and firmly patted it down before she straightened.

'Damn', Scully thought. It was bad enough when she couldn't move her arms, now she was trussed up like a Christmas goose about to be served up on grandma's silver platter.

"Ok...that's good Maggie. Now go get Mark."

Maggie exited the car and began walking toward the front door when Daniel began to gesture her away from the front entrance.

Watching, Scully realized he was asking her to go into the garage entry of the house.

Maggie slowly made her way forward, each step a shuffled and torturous gallows walk. Daniel rummaged around in the corner of the garage. Scully couldn't see what he was doing, but she feared it wasn't good.

Looking around the car, still trying to figure some means of escape, she briefly considered laying on the horn. However, knowing Daniel would most definitely start shooting, she resisted. There was no doubt his mental state had moved beyond fragile to totally, flaming psychotic. She feared for Maggie, and now Mark, who would soon be coming to the door.

Scully could hear a male voice drawing near. With each step closer to the garage that he took, his voice became louder.

"Maggie, you know I'm lousy with cars, honey. I'm not going to be any help. Are you sure you are feeling ok? I think you need to come inside and lie down. Daniel and I can handle the car situation. You look awful, like you are going to faint or some-"

Mark's sentence was not completed. In horror, Scully watched Daniel come up behind Mark where he smashed a large flashlight against the young man's temple. With a sickening thud and a groan, Mark collapsed in a heap to the hard concrete floor, next to the convertible.

Maggie quickly ran to Mark's prostrate form. Falling to her knees beside him, she fluttered her hands over him as though she desperately wanted to touch him but was afraid of doing greater damage. With trembling fingers she awkwardly began to push his curly, auburn hair back from his forehead.

Maggie raised her head, tears streaking her face. For the first time, Scully saw the smallest amount of backbone in the girl as Maggie spat out words with venomous hatred. Her voice soft, but damning with its accusation.

"I hate you! Are you insane? That's it; I'm calling 911. And if you choose, Father, you can shoot me because that's the only way you are going to stop me!"

"Maggie!"

Daniel placed his weapon at Mark's temple, his intent unambiguous.

Maggie froze. She could see the barrel nestled against Mark's temple, and her father's psychotic resolve. Gasping, she saw the flutter of Mark's eyelashes.

He was alive. And the actions she took now might alter that fact.

Maggie's eyes sought out Dana. For the briefest of seconds, each woman understood the other's pain. Maggie knew firsthand the torture Scully had endured leaving Mulder in that parking garage. The only difference, Maggie had faith that Mark was still alive.

Breaking through their reverie, Daniel's voice commanded. "Maggie, get the car keys for Mark's convertible, NOW. I know they're hanging just inside the door, on that hook in his laundry room. He's predictable. I'll give the boy that."

Scully nodded her head slightly, telling Maggie to obey her father, and to do as he said. Understanding, Maggie reached inside the door that entered the home's laundry room. She hurriedly pulled a key chain off a hook.

Her voice tremulous, she asked, "What do you want me to do? Please...please, don't shoot him."

"Get in the car, Maggie. I want you in the front seat. Mark will be fine. It was a glancing blow. He's only unconscious, at least for the moment. But if you cross me again, I will not hesitate to pull the trigger. Do you understand?"

Her shoulders slumping in resignation, Maggie slipped quietly into the passenger side of the convertible, where she sat, a frozen, lifeless statue.

"Maggie, honey, catch!" Daniel shouted as he threw her the keys. Because her reflexes were dulled by fear, Maggie watched the keys travel into the open passenger door, bounce against her leg, and onto the garage floor. She looked down at them as if they were foreign objects she couldn't identify. Finally, as though shaking her head from a dense fog, she picked them up, and looked back questioningly to her father.

"Maggie, I want you to start the car, and pop the trunk, Dear."

Scully, hearing Daniel's last direction for his daughter, felt her heartbeat escalate, and her palms begin to sweat. She was not going in that trunk. There had to be something she could do.

Daniel sauntered over to the BMW, and opened the passenger side door. He must have seen the fear in Scully's eyes because he attempted to soothe her. As his hands reached to stroke the hair from her face, she turned away from him, leaving his hand dangling in mid-air. She couldn't see the way his fist clenched into a tight ball as he tried to control his anger.

"Dana, I know your fantastic mind is working this a mile a minute, trying to achieve that perfect scenario that will allow you to incapacitate me and escape. I'd think no less of you. Of course that's the case. Please, don't waste your breath trying to deny it."

"I won't, Daniel."

"Good...I'm glad to see we still can communicate. This is how it's going to go, Dana. I am going to lift you, and place you in that trunk. It's not a warm day; you will be fine back there. I can't risk having you in the car knowing that your only desire is to overpower me in some fashion. I can't have that Dana. I won't."

"Daniel, look, you know this can't work. The police and the FBI will be looking for us. It's only a matter of time before they track the car."

"I know that, but I have a little time. That's all I need. No one knows about Maggie and Mark except Agent Mulder, and I don't think he'll be able to communicate that information to anyone. This house and this car are in Mark's name, not Maggie's. So it will take a while before they make the connection. That's all I need, just a little while."

At the sound of Mulder's name, Scully felt tears threatening to overwhelm her. Tamping her emotions as far down as she could, she painfully swallowed. The hard lump in her throat must surely have traveled from her breaking heart.

Trying a conciliatory tact, Scully began again. "Daniel, if I promise not to oppose you, would you please not put me in the trunk?"

His gaze softened and his demeanor relaxed as though he was giving serious consideration to her words. But just as she thought he would relent, he straightened, ramrod stiff once more. She knew she'd lost the argument.

Scully tried to remember where he'd put her weapon. She hadn't seen it since he'd taken it from her. Her eyes skimmed his torso, searching until they came to rest upon the gun, tucked behind him, into the waistband of his slacks.

With her arms and legs bound the way they were, there was no way she'd be able to maneuver it into her hand. It was a worst case scenario, all the way around.

She jumped as Daniel slammed her door. She watched him stride over to the driver's side, where he slid into the seat. Starting the ignition, he threw the car into drive, and moved up into the empty space in the garage. Scully gasped as she realized Daniel had come within a few scant inches of Mark's body.

Cutting the engine, he came around to the BMW's passenger side. Yanking open the door, he eyed Scully with wariness.

"Dana, we can do this the easy way or the hard way, but either way you will be going into that trunk. Do I make myself clear?"

Before she could answer, he placed the gun he'd been holding on the roof of the BMW, and bent down, sliding his arms under her. There was no sense struggling; it would accomplish nothing. With Maggie zoned out, and Mark unconscious, she had no one to help even if she could distract Daniel with her struggles.

Even as she felt herself lifted like some small child, the analytical portion of her told her that fact. It wasn't until she saw the gaping maw of that open trunk, that the logical portion of her brain gave way to the emotional dark side of her psyche.

She was not going into that trunk.

And if begging might stop it, she was not beyond trying.

"Daniel, no, please don't put me in there. You don't understand. I can't go into that trunk. Daniel, please... if you love me, you won't put me there. Daniel, I'll go insane. I'll die in there ... Daniel."

Even as she said the words, she realized she'd do about anything to keep from being put into another car trunk. Scully hated her insecurities, her mind-numbing fear. She knew this wasn't Duane Barry and that this situation was far removed.

In spite of that, she shook with terror as the trunk door closed, removing with it the light, and leaving only the darkness within.

* * *

GEORGETOWN MEDICAL CENTER

SAME TIME

Skinner paced the hallway, his shoes impatiently sounding his agitated state. However, it was his voice that told the real story as he barked orders into his cell-phone.

"I do not understand, Agent Cobb. We are talking about the life of one of our Agents. How the hell did that car ever make it out of the parking garage to begin with? We're not talking about the clandestine actions of a well-organized terrorist cell. We're talking about one lone, crazed psychotic who has Agent Scully. I want that car found, and I want it found now," he ordered, his face flushed, even as he tried to keep himself under control.

Even as he listened to Agent Cobb's reply, his worried eyes tracked the corridor. Grunting every once in awhile to let Cobb know he was still there, Skinner really was only half listening. 'Where in the hell is that doctor?' he thought. 'He said the tests would only take a few minutes, and that was 45 minutes ago.'

"Look, Agent Cobb, I know you guys are doing your best. I realize that...I'm just... Let's just say this one hits too close to home, understand? Good, keep me posted. I'll be there shortly; I just need to confirm the status of Agent Mulder..."

His voice trailed off as he motioned Frohike over to where he stood. The little man had just rounded the corner, practically barreling into a candy striper carrying flowers.

"Let me know, the minute you get anything...and I mean ANYTHING, Agent Cobb," Skinner said, his finger hitting the 'end call' button.

"How's Mulder?" Frohike asked with no preamble or social niceties. "And what do you have on Scully?"

Skinner knew there was no point in keeping Frohike in the dark. The rest of his merry band was probably already doing their best in pursuance of this case anyway. It would be better to pool resources, than to shut him out just because of protocol.

"Mulder's having tests run, CT scans and an MRI. We should know more after that. Apparently, he has a broken arm and collar bone. He's no longer unconscious, but he's dazed, and still disoriented, more out than in."

Nodding his head, Frohike asked, "Does he know about Scully?"

"No. He hasn't been that cognizant yet. I don't think he realizes what's happening to him. He's still too fuzzy."

"I'm not sure what will be better, a fully cognizant, rabid Mulder...fighting to get to her, even at the expense of his own health...because you know that's what will happen, or a semi-comatose Mulder who's unable to help us find her, and will never forgive himself if we don't get to her in time," Skinner muttered, obviously not caring for either scenario.

"Rock and a hard place, Assistant Director. That's what this is," Frohike acknowledged, empathy lacing his words. "You've just described their lives."

His voice tinged with regret, Skinner said, "I know, Frohike, and I can't tell you-"

A harried and flustered doctor slipped into the waiting room. As he headed in their direction, Skinner examined the countenance of his agent's doctor.

What had Mulder done now?


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN:

GEORGETOWN MEDICAL CENTER

LATE THAT EVENING

"Assistant Director Skinner?"

"Dr. Westin, how is Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked, concerned by the doctor's dire expression. He could tell that whatever the physician was going to say, he was not going to like it.

"Is Agent Mulder alright? Have there been complications?"

"Well, if you consider the patient getting up, accosting one of our male nurses, and walking out of the test, a complication...then we have complications," Dr. Westin muttered, his displeasure evident.

"In thirty years of medicine, I've never seen anything like it. That man needs psychological help. He's a loose cannon."

Angry with Mulder's Houdini act, Skinner's jaw clinched.

"Dr. Westin, exactly where did my Agent go?"

Just as he spoke the question, Skinner heard the doors swoosh open behind him, and knew his answer. He didn't need the doctor's disgruntled reply, but he was privy to it anyway.

"Right behind you, and if you don't do something to get him under control, I'm calling security. As it is, I still feel it's inadvisable for that man to be up walking around. He could have a severe head injury. Minimally, he has a concussion."

"Tell him, Skinner. I'm a bonehead. No need to worry about me," Mulder said, his voice tensed, and laced with anger.

"Where is she, Sir? Where's Scully?"

"Mulder, you need to go back and do the tests. We have agents looking for her. We'll find her."

"With all due respect, Sir, you know I'm the best person to find her. If you think I'm going to go lie down inside some giant lipstick tube, letting people take Polaroid snapshots of my head, while Scully's in the hands of a madman, you are crazier than HE thinks I am," Mulder snapped, tilting his head in Dr. Westin's direction.

Trying once more to appeal to Mulder's logical side, Dr. Westin argued, "You only have a temporary cast, Agent Mulder, and that collar bone needs to be set. You can't run around without causing yourself further injury, and I'll be-"

"Look, Dr. Westin, I'm checking myself out of here, with or without your approval. And I take full responsibility for my actions. You are off the hook," Mulder hissed, turning his back on the doctor as though he was an annoying pest.

With a painful grimace that he couldn't hide, Mulder continued.

"Sir, what do you have? Please...please, fill me in."

"This is against my better judgement, Agent Mulder. But I don't have time to baby-sit you. The parking garage security camera shows Scully being forced, at gunpoint, into Dr. Waterston's BMW. His daughter, Maggie, was also in the car. It is unclear if Maggie were in collusion with her father, or if, like Scully, she were another victim."

Noting how Mulder cringed with his use of the word 'victim' in the same sentence as 'Scully', Skinner proceeded with the rest of tale. "The BMW managed to elude local police and our garage security...apparently, our guy on duty had been to a bachelor party the night before, and not gotten any sleep. So instead of monitoring the security videos he-"

"Are you saying, Sir, the car wasn't stopped because some ass-hole fell asleep?"

"Yes. He woke up when he heard the BMW squealing towards the exit. He managed to get the gate down, but was not able to implement the other security measures before Waterston crashed through it. By the time the guard alerted additional personnel, Waterston had a head start, and had disappeared."

Running his fingers through his spiky hair, Mulder turned to Frohike. "Come on, man, you gotta have something for me..."

"Look, Mulder, Langly and Byers are checking through every piece of information we've collected on Waterston. We haven't-"

{{BRIIIING...BRIIIING...}}

Skinner snapped open his cell phone. Lifting it to his cheek, he tersely replied, "Skinner."

Watching Mulder's expectant, but worried expression, Skinner shook his head from side to side, letting his agent know that Scully hadn't been found yet. Although, by the sound of the information they were getting, at least they finally had something to go on.

"I want you to continue to interrogate Peters. Make sure there's not something that he missed." Skinner said, terminating his phone call.

"Mulder, do you know a Mark Peters?"

"Yeah, that's Maggie Waterston's fiancé. I met him once, at...Daniel's house," Mulder said, bouncing on the balls of his feet, obviously forcing himself to stay put when all his instincts told him he should hit the road looking for Scully.

"What does he know?"

"Waterston cold cocked Peters with a flashlight, and stole his convertible. He left his BMW in Peters' garage. I'm assuming he transferred the women to the new car. Although he has several hours head start, we at least have a description of the convertible. There's an APB out on it."

Mulder began to pace, his nervous energy finally giving way to motion as he strode the corridor, back and forth like some restless zoo cat. Skinner watched him, puzzled by the words Mulder was silently muttering to himself. Although Skinner couldn't quite make them all out, he swore he heard Mulder whisper 'Shakespeare' and 'daisies.'

Stopping dead in his tracks, Mulder swung around, urgently grabbing Frohike's arm with his good hand, the other, trapped in a sling, hardly seemed to give him pause.

"Frohike, have the guys check for property...a beach house, a condominium...something on the coast. Daniel's gonna take Scully to water, to the ocean. I know it. His perfect weekend with her was in La Jolla, at the beach. All the bastard's gifts were supposed to elicit memories from Scully of that time. Frohike, he's taking her to the coast! You have to find me the location. Before it's too late, man... Before I'm too late, again." Mulder whispered, his voice choked with suppressed emotion.

With the utterance of his last words, Mulder turned to Skinner. His eyes haunted by the past, pleading with his superior, Mulder whispered once more, "Please, Sir...don't let me be too late."

* * *

Darkness goes by different names.

Frightening: When Scully was four, darkness was large and scary. Its dimness only held boogiemen in the closet and monsters under the bed. It provided fodder for an older brother, Bill, who delighted in jumping out at her, and telling her ghost stories that set her pre-school teeth chattering in fear.

But even in this obscurity, there was light.

Mom was always there to chase Bill out of her room, and scold him for his poor behavior. Missy, sometimes, if Dana were very scared, would lend her younger sister one of her special stuffed animals, and allow Dana to sleep with her in her bed. And if Dana promised to not hog all the covers, Missy would even allow the nightlight, at least until Dana went to sleep.

DELIGHT: When Dana was older, there was the darkness that finally arrived every Fourth of July. That darkness young Dana longed for as she bugged her parents for sparklers, and other small firecrackers. Until, finally, about 9:30 P.M. she'd start to feel the impending night slowly slide into the sky. She'd be so excited she could hardly contain the joy.

Dana had been too thrilled to dread that darkness. It heralded firefly catching, and the ritual of sticking the glowing bugs into big glass mayonnaise jars, with hole punched lids. It partnered drippy popsicles that slipped with sweet, grape glops down her arm because she ate them too slowly in the July heat. And, more importantly, it signified a grandparent's tender touch, the petting of her cherry red hair as Dana leaned a sticky chin upon grandma's welcoming knee.

This darkness was a moment alive with exciting and breathtaking possibilities, especially when that first loud BOOM signaled the coming attraction: a sky lit up in the spectacular, brilliant colors of summer, tones that illuminated faces of family and friends with violets, reds and golds as they burst forth out of the inky black sky.

SECRETS: As a teenager the darkness provided opportunities for exploration and secrets. There was the time Dana had pilfered the cigarettes from her mother's purse, and slipped outside to inhale a forbidden fruit. It wasn't the cigarette that appealed to her, but the prohibited indulgence, and her small act of rebellion.

There was awkward and surreptitious groping with boys in the darkness, explorations of her emerging sexuality, finally culminating, in a less than fulfilling moment, with Marcus, the 12th grade love of her life.

PASSION: This darkness beheld Mulder's lips warmly sliding against Scully's own, his fingers trailing sensitive tracks down her glistening bare back and buttocks as she lay stretched out on top of him, wrapped in the afterglow of their lovemaking. The quiet solitude of 3 A.M. interludes was sought after like precious jewels; it came so infrequently. And it had been denied them for so long.

LOVE: Even within the somber, depressing blackness she'd encountered since joining the FBI, she found love. When the world was turned upside down, and the depravity of monsters, and the cloying cigarette smoke of pure evil itself, filled her lungs with its presence, love prevailed.

Mulder's love overflowed into the darkness.

He was the constant, the light that permeated the gloom. After the agonizing oppression of a closet that Scully had been pushed into, waiting the deadly, evil desires of Pfaster's insanity, Mulder's presence had filled her heart with light as he wrapped her tightly within his embrace. And after the second deadly encounter, her partner's presence had helped hold her together once more.

Mulder's luminescence had found her, even in Antarctica, in the dark bowels of an alien ship, her body lifeless and frozen within a suffocating icy cubicle. And with his gentle radiance, he gave her life back to her, breathing air into starving lungs, and love into a guarded, closed off heart.

HORROR BEYOND WORDS: However, it was the one suffocating blackness that Mulder's light could not permeate, that Scully remembered now. The one time when the ominous gloom could not be penetrated, and she had succumbed to its terror to the point she had shut down. Her memories were fragmented and suspect, but a coping mechanism that allowed her to forget the abduction and trauma she had endured.

And it had all begun with the closing of a car trunk and the insanity of a madman.

* * *

ENROUTE TO BETHANY BEACH, DELAWARE

NEXT DAY, 5:00 A.M.

After they'd crossed the Bay Bridge coming out of DC, Mulder hadn't spoken. He had slouched down in the passenger seat, his gaze unblinking as he searched out the window. It was as though he was sure he'd come across Mark's stolen convertible parked nonchalantly among mini vans and strollers at the Outlet Mall.

It didn't matter that it was the middle of the night, and everything was couched in inky blackness. Mulder still scrutinized all he could see.

Mile after mile of trees, fruit stands, small houses, two-lane roads, and gas stations had provided ample opportunity for Mulder to sit and think. For every hour they lost, he added another desperate premonition to his repertoire. Even as Skinner drove them toward the coast, the A.D.'s constant updates with FBI and local law enforcement did nothing to alleviate the dread that clutched at Mulder's chest.

Scully had been in the hands of a madman for over twelve hours, and he didn't know where she was.

He suspected that he knew, however. Daniel had a beach house in Bethany Beach, Delaware. That's where Mulder and Skinner were headed; that's where local law enforcement was canvassing. If Mulder were wrong, he had pulled valuable resources away from other areas, and perhaps, doomed Scully in the process.

He could not be wrong.

Mulder watched the highway signs as Skinner pulled off of Route 9, turning south onto Route 1. It was only 16 more miles to Bethany Beach, 16 more interminable miles to Scully.

"Mulder, how are you doing? How's the pain?"

"Tolerable. I've felt worse. The Tylenol's helping, but not nearly as much as the good stuff...but I can't...I can't take that right now. I need to keep my head."

Shaking his head with affirmation and understanding, Skinner's eyes concentrated on the road before him.

"Sir? Have they heard anything? Have they found the beach house?" Mulder asked, his voice hesitant, without the usual bravado that accompanied every query.

"I just talked with the local sheriff. They found Waterston's house. It's in an upscale gated community on the beach side. The convertible is not there, but they have stationed people around the perimeter of the house. They haven't entered yet."

Nodding his head, while he swallowed the large lump that had taken up residence in his throat, Mulder asked, "Have they questioned the neighbors? Has anyone seen the convertible?"

"Apparently, no one's noticed anyone at the house in several weeks. As far as Waterston's neighbors are concerned, the house is empty and has been for some time."

Mulder digested this information as Skinner continued.

"Mulder, are you sure about this? It doesn't make sense for Waterston to bring Scully to a place he knows we are bound to investigate. He'd have to figure we'd check this place out."

Chewing on his bottom lip, Mulder sighed, "Sir, I know it seems like a foolish move on his part, but I know Waterston's taken Scully here. I can't explain it, Sir, but I feel...I feel her."

"Ok. We should be there in five minutes. I'll have the sheriff's unit wait."

"Thank you, Sir."

Mulder's eyes went once more to his window, searching the night for the only light that could penetrate his soul and heart.

Scully.

* * *

5:05 A.M.

Scully had managed to quiet her nerves somewhere along the long drive from D.C. She found that strength within that had sustained her in the past. It was the potent combination of her faith, her own natural grit, and the assurance of Mulder's love. Within that, she had calmed her panic attack, and formulated a plan, of sorts.

The problem was her arms and legs were so far past numb as to be deadened. She wasn't sure how long it would take her to regain movement, even if she could get Daniel to remove her bonds. But she knew she'd have to try and persuade him to do so. It was her only chance.

Scully felt an abrupt stop as Daniel hit the brakes, and turned off the ignition. Wherever he was taking his hostages, they had arrived. Scully forced herself to breathe slowly as she heard the slam of a car door, fully expecting the trunk lid to be lifted.

However, after several minutes of silence, Scully wondered what was up. She could smell salty air, and hear the muffled sounds of waves lapping at the shore. She knew she was at the ocean, but that was all. Everything else around her was silent.

As she meditated, the trunk lid was suddenly wrenched open, the bright beam of a flashlight blinding her with its intensity. Scully squinted, trying to see through its intrusive glare.

"Daniel?"

"Dana, I'm going to take you out of the trunk now. You must be terribly uncomfortable. But Dana, as I said before, I don't want to have to deal with any disobedience on your part. You will obey me, or there will be extreme consequences for your actions. Do you understand?"

Scully decided now was the time to begin her plan. As docilely as possible she answered, "Daniel, I will do nothing to oppose you. I only want to talk. We've let too much time elapse between our last discussions."

Placing the flashlight on the ground, Daniel straightened up, his face now barely visible in the diffuse light. As he reached inside, preparing to gather her up in his arms, he agreed with her last statement.

"I, too, think it's time we talked, Dana. In fact, toward that end, I'm going to remove the tape binding your feet. Do you promise to behave? To not attempt to escape?" he whispered, his hand gently stroking her cheek.

"Daniel, thank you. I can't feel my legs or feet. I won't give you any trouble," Scully answered, thankful to at least be able to get part of the bonds removed.

Digging into his pocket, Daniel pulled a pocket knife out and began slicing the tape that tightly bound her ankles. Throwing the remnants to the side, he closed his knife, and slid it back into his trousers. With gentle hands, he lifted her body from the trunk.

Too bad she couldn't stand when he set her feet on the ground. The first moment she tried, her legs collapsed like rubber chicken legs beneath her, leaving her to heavily lean on Daniel as he supported her weight.

"Easy, Dana. It's going to take a while. We'll go slowly; I'll help you adjust."

"Daniel...Daniel where's Maggie," Scully asked, her fear beginning to escalate again as she noticed she didn't see Maggie seated in the front seat any longer.

"Where's your daughter, Daniel?"

Helping Scully shuffle baby steps across the driveway, each one more painful than the last as feeling returned to her legs in cramps and tingles, Daniel replied,

"Don't worry about her, Dana. She wasn't the one. "


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE:

DANIEL WATERSTON'S BEACH HOUSE

5:30 A.M.

With the palm of his hand lying flat against the weathered wood, Mulder leaned heavily upon the outside railing of the beach house's wrap around porch. Bound tightly in a navy blue sling, his broken arm was pulled up snuggly against him, throbbing like the percussion section in an orchestra. Beat after beat of kettledrum pain pounded tympani throughout his swollen extremity. Its crescendo, partnered with the cymbals clanging within his collarbone, marched into his head like a '101 trombones in a big parade'. To say that Tylenol just wasn't cutting it any longer was an understatement of monumental proportion.

"SON OF A BITCH!" Mulder yelled out into the blackness, his voice echoing back to him on the turbulent waves of pounding surf. Barely had he gotten the words out of his mouth, when Skinner was at his side.

"Agent Mulder."

"Sir."

"There's no indication that Dr. Waterston, or anyone else for that matter, has recently been in this house. The structure and grounds have been thoroughly searched. The neighbors, up and down the street, have all been woken and questioned...There's just nothing to make us think he's been here."

Watching the smallest traces of light spread across the horizon, mellowing the night's blackness into dawn's murky gray, Mulder stared straight ahead. Finally, as though forcing the words out, he spoke.

"I know. But I also know that he's here, Sir. I feel it. Scully's nearby. I just...can't seem to clear my head enough to hear her."

Skinner leaned in more closely, his voice hushed and secretive as he asked, "Hear her? Mulder, I thought you'd lost the ability to read minds...I thought, after your operation, that ability was no longer present."

"It's not...at least not in the way that it was before. You're safe with me, Sir, no more unauthorized treks through the secrets of your psyche," Mulder murmured, turning to lock eyes with his superior, an unspoken moment of clarity between them.

"But with Scully, Sir. There are moments...um...let's just say there are times I can hear her - not in the conventional sense - not her thoughts. But I can touch her mind in such a way that I can feel her presence."

"That must be seductive, Mulder, quite intimate-"

"Yes, Sir, it is. But it's a moot point. I don't know where she is," he sighed, his eyes once more drawn to the ocean and the waves enticing slide against the beach.

With his good hand, Mulder slapped an impatient staccato beat on the railing.

"Sir, I'm going to take a walk and clear my head. I won't go far, just down the beach. I have to get into Daniel's mind. I have to figure out where he's got her. I know, with all certainty, that Scully doesn't have much time left."

Acknowledging Mulder's need for solitude, Skinner replied, "Agent Mulder, I'm pulling everyone out of the house. I'll leave a couple of people parked up front at the community entrance to make sure Waterston doesn't arrive after we leave. But I'm going to get the rest of the team searching the area, just in case he's gone somewhere else. Don't wander off."

As Mulder descended the outer stairway onto the sandy beach, he didn't hear Skinner's final words. His mind was already lost to the sea, to the gulls' plaintive cries, to the surf's bubbling foam, and to the sunrise that would come no matter what. And it was searching and seeking for the light that always flickered within, the light that was Scully.

* * *

5:35 A.M.

"Daniel...where's Maggie? Where's your DAUGHTER?" Scully repeated, terror creeping up the back of her neck to grab with a vice-like hold around her throat, threatening to suffocate her.

"Dana, she's fine. She's just sleeping...I gave her something...in her coffee. Don't worry; I only want what's best for Maggie," Daniel said, indicating the front seat of the car where Maggie was stretched out in peaceful slumber.

Pressing her face against the driver's side window, Scully was relieved to see the steady rhythm of Maggie's chest as it inhaled, and exhaled with a steady flow. Just as she began to turn around, she noticed her gun, slipped under the driver's seat. She could see the black barrel barely visible against the dark floor mats, laying just below Maggie's hand that dangled over the seat edge.

Taking two cleansing breaths to steady her frayed nerves, Scully turned to Daniel.

Although it was no longer pitch black, it was still difficult to see anything around them. She and Daniel appeared to be standing in an open carport situated beneath a house. Directly in front of her was the ocean, the waves breaking against the shore. Behind her was a large white gate, tightly closed. Daniel had locked it after he'd parked the car. For all practical purposes, they were fully secluded, hidden from any outside prying eyes.

"Please...take off the tape. Unbind my wrists, Daniel. So...so we can talk, and you can tell me why you went to all this trouble," Scully entreated, making every effort to sound calmer than she truly felt.

"Dana, I want to believe you'll listen to me. I want to believe that we can have a civilized conversation, that you will understand the purity of my motives, and be able to accept your place again in my world. You have no idea, my sweet Dana, how much I long for those things."

"Daniel, I just didn't understand. I didn't realize how much you loved me, how much you were concerned for my welfare. I had no idea," Scully uttered, watching his body language, trying to interpret his behavior.

"Let's face it. You know me, Daniel. Ten years ago, I was stubborn and young, too headstrong for my own good. And look what it's got me...no life to speak of. My sister...my sister's dead because of my dogmatism. My family doesn't understand what I do; they blame me for Missy's-"

"Oh, Dana. I'm sure that's not so. You just have to understand, like everything in life, there are consequences for our actions. Regrettably, Missy's life was penalty for your rebellious ways."

Scully cringed at those words. How many times had she considered them herself, and now to have them thrown back at her with such disdain, with so little regard for her feelings, was enough to make Scully forget her resolve.

Giving herself an internal pep talk, she silently mouthed, 'Whatever it takes, Agent Scully. Whatever it takes.'

Noting that Daniel's stance had become more casual, that he no longer held himself straight like a board, Scully continued.

"I know, Daniel. But there have been other things as well. I was abducted...given cancer. I had a daughter, sacrificed on the altar of my disobedience. There is nothing in my life...nothing, Daniel. And there hasn't been...since I left you," Scully whispered, looking up into Daniel's eyes, her posture, intentionally submissive, her words, carefully chosen.

Reaching into his pocket, Daniel removed the pocketknife. Snapping open the blade, he gently stroked the gleaming, metal surface.

"What about Mulder? What about your partner? I saw you two together...more than once. He's obviously in love with you," Daniel murmured, nicking the fleshy tip of his thumb with the knife's sharp edge. As he watched the pinprick of blood, bubble and pool into a drop that slid down his hand, Scully shuddered.

Forgive me Mulder, she thought, formulating her reply.

"Daniel. Please...you know me. Mulder's someone who believes in little green men, who chases lights in the sky. He believes in vampires and the Boogieman, and government conspiracies that will supposedly jeopardize the human race. He's brilliant, but not all there."

"But he's also your lover, Dana. Don't deny it; I know what I saw. I know the love Mulder feels for you. I saw it in the man's eyes," Daniel hissed, walking up behind Scully, securely grabbing onto her arms, and pulling her backward against his chest.

Scully yelped in pain, the deadened nerves of her arms, once more alive as he forcefully held her. His knife seductively slid against her throat, the small traces of his blood trailing a thin sliver of red across her neck like a ruby red choker.

Swallowing the bile that threatened, Scully calmly whispered, "Do you remember what it was like before your divorce. You knew that you needed to leave, and yet there were commitments, responsibilities you had to consider, things which held you back."

"Yes, I understand responsibility," Daniel whispered, his breath grazing the back of her neck as he spoke.

"I've just not been strong enough to leave him, Daniel. Mulder's feelings for me are so overwhelming, so suffocating, but I know what it will do to him when I break it off. I am what he lives for...he doesn't have the strength to carry on that you've had all these years. Everything Mulder's ever loved has been taken from him. But I know now that I can't continue on like this, subjugating my desires for his, just as I'm sure you concluded about yourself when you finally were able to leave Barbara."

"No, Dana, you can't," Daniel murmured, letting go of her arms, and bringing the knife between their bodies.

Scully felt the point slice into the tender, raw skin of her wrists as he loosened the bonds, cutting the tape free.

With gentle soothing strokes, he rubbed her wrists, working his way up her arms to her shoulders in order to restore sensation to her tortured extremities. The pain was excruciating, poker-red hot in its intensity. But even that was better than the throbbing numbness she had felt before.

As much as Scully tried to stop them, tears filled her eyes, slipping down her cheeks. Each massaging stroke brought with it such agony that she could no longer contain the emotions within. Not only was it physical torture feeling the revitalization of her arms, but it was the emotional anguish that came from knowing this man was the same one she had nearly agreed to spend her life with, once upon a very long time ago.

"Better, Dana?"

"Yes, thank you."

Daniel twisted her body, turning Scully to face him. For the briefest of moments, his face contorted in pain. He reached forward, wiping his thumbs against her face as though he just realized the harm he'd been doing her.

"Why are you crying, Dana? I'm so sorry...that I hurt you. I never wanted to do that. In fact, I brought you here to make you whole again, to deliver you from all the pain and grief in your life," Daniel said, pointing to the small pile of stuff he'd accumulated on the ground in front of the car.

Her eyes followed his finger in the direction that it pointed. There, in front of the convertible, sat a large bouquet of wilted daisies, another lacy white negligee, crystal goblets, and a bottle of wine.

"I bought the daisies this morning; they should still be fresh. I had them in the back seat, along with the other things. I knew-"

Scully tuned out the rest of what Daniel was saying as she saw what else he had collected. Nestled among his 'gifts' were a long hose, duct tape, and rags. The stark and final nature of these items was in such contrast to the romantic illusion he was trying to reclaim.

"-You see, Dana. This is the only way I can truly keep you and Maggie safe, and ensure that outside influences do not corrupt you. It's perfect, sweetheart. Just as it was that day. Maggie will continue to sleep, and you and I will be able to watch the sunrise together."

Unconsciously, perhaps, Scully shook her head from side to side, a silent 'NO' to what he was inferring. Reacting to this, Daniel continued.

"Dana, honey, I know it's not the same; it's not a sunset. There aren't the boulders and crashing waves like in La Jolla. And there's hardly a troupe of Shakespearean actors prancing about, but it is beautiful. Dana, it is still perfect."

"Where are we, Daniel?" Scully asked, trying to buy time for herself while she figured out what to do about this unexpected turn of events. A suicide pact was not on her agenda for that day or any other.

"We're at Bethany Beach, in Delaware. My own vacation house is about half a mile down the beach. This one belongs to a colleague of mine. He's in Europe, and I check up on it for him. I figured it would be better to come here; I didn't want any interruptions."

"Daniel...we can't do this. We each have responsibilities, families that count on us...This would be too selfish. Can't you see that?"

Pulling his weapon from the waistband of his slacks, Daniel's eyes glazed over as he spoke.

"What I see, Dana, is a life that has treated you harshly. It has taken away so much of that young, vibrant girl I once knew, and left you tired and dissatisfied-"

"No, Daniel. For the first time, in so very long, I am content. I'm happy. And Maggie, she has so much to live for; she's young, her whole life is before her. You can't take away her chances for happiness. That's not a father's love."

"You and Maggie are so much alike; it's uncanny. She thinks she knows what's best for her, but she's about to make the same poor decisions you did. This is better for her. I'm saving her. I'm saving Maggie from a life of recrimination and self-doubt. I'm doing exactly what you told me in the hospital. Do you remember?"

"Daniel, I didn't tell you to kill Maggie."

"You told me that maybe the reason I was alive now was to make up for the past...make it up to Maggie. Well, you were right. I've been such a poor father, but I've learned. And this will go so far towards making things up to my little girl. No one will ever hurt her as they have you."

Scully tried to calculate her odds of making it to the beach before Daniel put a bullet in her back. She'd have to leave Maggie, but maybe she could find someone close enough to help. Or, perhaps, she could yell, causing a neighbor to investigate, or at the very least call the police.

"Dana...before the scream exits your mouth, you will be dead," Daniel sighed, resignation evident in the tone of his voice.

"And don't even think of running, sweetheart. You'll have no chance. I'd rather we were able to enjoy these last few moments together, to watch the glorious sunrise, to drink a final toast to old times, and gently slide into eternity together. But if it's not to be, I understand."

Before Scully could reply, Daniel silenced her with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Don't think I've been fooled by your pop-psychology attempts to distract me, to lull me into a false sense of security. I know exactly what you've been up to, Agent Scully. And like I said before, I'd be disappointed in you, if you didn't try."

"Daniel, I-"

"Save it, Dana. It's beneath you to try and play dumb. You are an intelligent woman; you did everything I'm sure you were trained to do in order to stay alive. Your superiors would be proud. But in this case, the pupil is not smarter than her mentor. You've only fooled yourself, Agent Scully, if you think your submissive posture, or your attempts to placate me have seduced me.

"Daniel, I am not getting into that car. I refuse to just sit there and let you asphyxiate me."

Daniel's finger caressed the weapon's trigger, then stopped. With his eyes still trained upon her, he bent, grabbing the lacey spaghetti strap edge of the negligee. Holding it out in front of him, he said, "Put it on, Dana."

"I will not," Scully voiced, drawing her line in the sand.

Tears pooling within his own eyes, Daniel mouthed, "I love you, Dana," as he leveled and steadied his gun, pointing it directly at Scully's chest. Her breath hitched as she realized this was probably the end of her road. Mulder would not be charging up on his white steed to rescue his damsel in distress.

"You're just not the one..."

The next several seconds seemed to take place in slow motion, real time standing still as vibrant sound and movement stormed Scully's senses. She heard the click of the car door opening. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Maggie step out, her face flushed, her eyes vacant and drugged. Within her unsteady hands was Scully's service weapon, pointed at Daniel.

"NOOOO!" Scully screamed, feeling the reverberation of her cry torn from her throat as Daniel instinctively reacted to the intruder, swinging his arm around, squeezing the trigger, and pumping two rounds into Maggie.

Like a crumpled rag doll, Maggie collapsed, the gun flung from her hand as her body hit the ground. Her blood slowly trickled into the sand like a crimson stream, small eddies swirling through the crystalline granules.

In that instant, adrenaline and desperation propelled Scully forward like a stone launched from a slingshot. She dove for Maggie's discarded gun. At the same time her fingers grasped its cold, steel surface, she twisted and rolled, coming up in a crouched position, her arms trembling with the effort to raise the gun.

As Scully aimed her gun at Daniel, she vaguely registered Mulder running towards her from the water's edge. His weapon was drawn, extended in Daniel's direction. She could see her partner's mouth moving. She knew he spoke, and even though she couldn't hear his voice, she knew his words.

In the split second...she remembered...several days ago, in the courtyard.

 _"Frankly, Scully, more than you shooting the bastard, whether we argue the semantics of it being justified or not, my fears for you are more for how that horrendous moment may color your future actions."_

 _Placing his fingers under her chin, Mulder tilted her face to his. "Scully, I worry that given the split second decision making process that occurs in a situation like that, where you might find yourself in the clutches of another madman, you might 'blink'."_

 _"Blink, Mulder?" she whispered as a single tear slid free, tracing her cheek._

 _"Yes, blink. Realizing you might question your actions, your resolve, your right to use deadly force to defend yourself, and therefore, in that 'blink' give the upper-hand to the perp, and consequently lose your life, scares the hell out of me, Scully."_

 _"I won't blink, Mulder," she mumbled under her breath._

 _"What, Scully, I didn't hear you," Mulder said, forcing her to speak more audibly._

 _Straightening her shoulders, pulling away from his embrace, Scully spoke with confidence._

 _"I will not blink, Mulder."_

* * *

Scully fired her weapon. The jolt from the discharge raced up the ravaged nerves of her arm, but none the less, she held firm as she fired again, taking Daniel down.

Just as the second shot rang true, Mulder was beside Daniel's crumpled form, kicking the weapon away from his body.

Daniel's face was turned toward the horizon. He appeared to not even notice Mulder's presence. Gasping for air, he coughed bright red frothy blood. "Dana," he whispered,

"Isn't it beautiful, Dana? It is such a perfect day-"

Scully struggled to stand, her limbs painfully fighting against that desire. Daniel didn't need her any more. His eyes stared straight ahead, fixated on some precious memory as he breathed his last.

Until he was no more.

Lurching toward Maggie, she heard Mulder's strangled cry.

"Scully-"

Even as she labored in Maggie's direction, Scully's gaze held Mulder's. She had so much she wanted to say to him. But now was not the time. Maggie needed her help. If she could help it, Daniel's tragic legacy would not include his daughter's murder.

Grabbing the ivory nightgown from the ground she attempted to staunch the blood flow from Maggie's wounds. As sirens sounded in the background, Scully whispered,

"I didn't blink, Mulder. I didn't blink."


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:

THE EPILOGUE:

Scully nestled into a white wicker chair. A soft downy comforter, pulled from the bed, was thrown casually across her lap. Her bare toes peaked out from beneath the blanket's edge where she placed them upon a small whicker stool. She wiggled her toes, delighting in the feel of the fresh morning's breeze on her feet.

"Scully?"

"Out here, Mulder," she replied.

"Thought I'd find you out here. Feeling any better?"

"Yes. I don't know what it was. Must have been something I ate last night, just didn't sit well with me I guess. I feel fine...now that I-"

"Prayed to the porcelain God?" Mulder chuckled, handing Scully a warm, steaming mug.

"Exactly. What is that? Please, tell me you made me tea," she murmured, bringing her nose to sniff at her mug.

"Yep, no cup of Joe for you this morning, Scully. I don't know if I ever mentioned it to you, but I don't do throw up."

"No problem, Mulder. The stomach seems to have settled down, although, I think I'll skip breakfast."

Chuckling, Mulder padded over to the railing where he leaned into it, looking out at the sunrise. As he sipped from his mug, Scully found herself admiring him instead of the panoramic vista in front of her. Nothing like having a wet, half naked Mulder in the morning she thought as she observed the way his faded blue jeans hung low on his hips, and how his bare back glistened. The morning's rays were catching the water droplets he'd missed after drying off from his shower, creating tiny prisms of color down his back.

He was truly beautiful, especially since that ugly cast had been removed. It wasn't so much the plaster that had bothered her, but all that the brace signified, how very close she'd come to losing him.

Bending his knee and lifting one bare foot up onto the stool, Mulder wiggled his toes against hers. Breathing deeply, he inhaled the crisp, clean salty tang of morning.

"As much as I've loved this weekend away, Scully. Hasn't this brought up painful memories? We could have gone to any bed and breakfast along the eastern seaboard. We didn't have to come back to Bethany Beach.

Setting her mug down on the little glass table beside her, she shoved his leg off the stool so that she could get up. Without her shoes she felt even smaller next to him as she sidled her way in between Mulder and the railing. Leaning back against him, she looked out into the fresh dawn.

Shorebirds soared through the sky, the fresh colors of the day streaked the sky, and a young family walked along the beach, directly out from their porch. A man, a woman, and two small children played on the sand, collecting seashells, and tiny sand dollars that had washed ashore during the night.

Scully smiled as she watched the couple interacting with their son. They grabbed hold of the little boy's hands, swinging him along between them as his sister ran on ahead dancing with the waves.

"That's what I want to remember about this beach, Mulder. I want to remember all that's bright and beautiful, not how depraved it all became."

"I understand, Scully," he murmured, resting his head upon her own, her copper strands tickling at his chin.

"I got a postcard yesterday, from Maggie."

Mulder sighed, shifting his stance and drawing her in more closely. "What did it say?"

"It says that she doesn't blame me for all that happened with her dad. She understands I wasn't a part of his...illness. She didn't want me to feel guilty."

"Sounds to me like she's grown up a lot."

"Yeah, bullet wounds tend to do that to you, Mulder. She and Mark got married...a small civil ceremony in the hospital chapel. She's rehabilitating nicely. And Mark has convinced her to get counseling. He's been a Godsend, and she thinks they will do just fine."

"Good for them."

"Yes, very. I think they'll make it. They love each other very much."

"There's a lot of that going around lately," Mulder chuckled, tightening his hold on Scully.

Placing her hands across his, she wrapped his arms around her middle. Silently, they stood there, each contemplating the morning glow.

Finally, Mulder broke the silence. His voice betraying his displeasure as he said, "Scully, Skinner called while I was making your tea. We have some meeting scheduled for Monday, one not on our schedule. Apparently, we are being audited."

"We? There's no 'we' here, Mulder. You're the head of the division. I'm just your lowly subordinate," Scully giggled, more from Mulder's actions than from the humor of her words. He had managed to slide his hand up under her pajama top, and was not so subtly inching his way up her stomach to her breasts.

"Hey, wanna hear a good one, Scully?" Mulder asked, his hand finally reaching its target.

"Sure, Mulder. Seems like a perfect time," she murmured, thinking that there were much better things she'd rather do with him then telling jokes.

"The auditor's name is Chesty Short."

"You're not making that up?" she murmured as Mulder's lips pushed aside her collar, and began nibbling up her neck.

"Nope. But it seems kind of apropos doesn't it." he chuckled, running the backs of his fingers against her breasts, teasing at her nipples. "Gotta love a man with a name like that."

"Hmmm...ok...Mulder, but that's Monday's problem. Right now let's see if you can handle the two you already have."

* * *

THE END


End file.
